Chloe POV
The alarm hadn’t gone off yet. Chloe’s eyes opened in morning light, her body already braced for the familiar weight of his arm sliding across her waist. Three weeks of this. Three weeks of waking up next to the man she was going to destroy, feeling his cock press against her ass while she counted the seconds until she could get out of bed and start the real work.

Mark stirred behind her. His hand found her hip, fingers dragging across her bare skin with the lazy confidence of a man who had never been denied anything in his life.

“Morning, baby.” His voice was rough with sleep, affectionate, the same voice he used when he told her he loved her.

“Morning.” She turned in his arms and gave him the smile he expected, soft, warm, still a little dazed from sleep. The smile she had practiced in the mirror until it looked effortless. He kissed her, slow and claiming, and she opened her mouth for him without hesitation.

His tongue slid against hers. His hand moved down her stomach, fingers dipping between her thighs. She was already wet. Her body still responded to him, still craved him, still remembered seven years of being worshipped and desired and fucked into the mattress until she couldn’t remember her own name. That was the most useful betrayal of all. The body had its own memory, and right now she could use it.

“Fuck, baby.” He found her clit with the same practiced ease he had always had, rubbing slow circles while his mouth stayed on hers. “You’re already wet for me.”

She moaned into his mouth at exactly the right moment. Let him roll her onto her back. Let him settle his heavy body over hers, the familiar weight of his chest pressing her into the mattress. The head of his cock pushed against her entrance, and he slid inside her with one smooth thrust, filling her completely.

Mark fucked her slow that morning. Deep, languid strokes that let him stay buried to the hilt for long seconds before pulling almost all the way out and sliding back in. His mouth found her nipple, sucking and biting until she arched into him, the sharp pleasure cutting through the numbness.

“That’s it,” he breathed against her skin. “Take my cock, baby. Take all of it.”

Chloe wrapped her legs around his waist and let him take her. She timed every soft sound she made, every shift of her hips, every quiet gasp that told him she was close. When the pressure built inside her, real pressure, the kind her body couldn’t fake, she forced her mind to a cold, blank place and rode it without letting it own her. She clenched around him at exactly the right moment, cried out at exactly the right pitch, let her nails dig into his shoulders while he groaned and buried his face in her neck and pumped deep.

He stayed inside her for a long moment, breathing hard, his cock still twitching. Then he kissed her forehead and pulled out.

“Best part of my day,” he said, already swinging his legs off the bed.

She smiled at his back as he walked toward the bathroom. The smile stayed on her face until the shower started running.

Then it disappeared.

Chloe lay still, staring at the ceiling, her body still humming with the aftermath of an orgasm she had let herself have because denying it would have felt suspicious. The cold thing inside her turned once, slow and satisfied. Every day she gave him this, the perfect wife, the willing body, the warm smile, brought her closer to the day she would take everything.

She counted to ten, then got up and started the coffee.

While he showered she made it exactly the way he liked it, black, two degrees too hot, and set it on the marble counter with a folded note that said Have a good day. Love you. She had written the same note every weekday since the night she found the iPad. Muscle memory now. The words meant nothing. The routine meant everything.

Mark came downstairs in a charcoal suit, still damp at the collar, and pulled her against him. His hand settled on her hip, possessive and familiar. “Dinner tomorrow night? That new Italian place you wanted to try.”

“Perfect.” She rose on her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth, letting her lips linger just long enough to feel real. “I’ll book it.”

He left with a final squeeze of her hip and the easy confidence of a man who believed the world still belonged to him. The front door clicked shut. Chloe stood motionless in the entryway, listening to his footsteps fade down the path, listening to his car engine start and pull away.

The second the sound disappeared, her face went blank.

She locked the door. Walked straight to the kitchen. Pulled out her phone and stared at the school directory for a long moment before dialing the office. Her voice came out rough, carefully measured.

“Hi, it’s Chloe.” She paused, let the exhaustion bleed into her tone. “I’m not going to make it in today. Fever, aching everywhere. I’ll try to send lesson notes for the afternoon session.”

The secretary’s sympathetic reply made her stomach twist. She hung up and stood in the quiet kitchen, phone still in her hand.

The kids. Jamie. Maya. The nonverbal boy who waited by the door every morning for her smile. She was letting them down. The guilt sat heavy and sharp under her ribs, the same place where the love for those children had lived for years.

But this was more important.

She set the phone down, opened the laptop she had bought two weeks earlier with cash, and began the real work. No cloud accounts linked to anything Mark could access. No history that would survive a wipe. Just a clean machine and the encrypted drive that held everything she needed.

The Evidence folder was complete. Every video, every screenshot, every message from the Inner Circle chat, all backed up in three separate locations. The personal filth alone would destroy Sarah’s reputation and make Mark’s life a public spectacle. But Chloe wanted more than spectacle. She wanted annihilation.

She opened a new browser window through a VPN and kept digging.

Clean Muscle’s public filings looked clean on the surface. The private equity firm that had injected capital eighteen months earlier. The sudden jump in “consulting fees” paid to a shell company registered in Delaware. Chloe had noticed the pattern while pretending to care about quarterly numbers over dinner, nodding along while Mark explained EBITDA and margins, filing every detail away in the cold room where her revenge lived.

This morning she found something better.

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He fed prompts into the AI image generator with the same methodical patience he brought to quarterly forecasts and risk assessments. Blonde hair, parted in the middle, falling in soft waves past bare shoulders. Athletic build, the kind of toned arms and flat stomach that suggested early-morning Pilates and green smoothies. A face that looked like it belonged on a fitness feed: high cheekbones, full lips, green eyes with just enough warmth to seem genuine. He adjusted the parameters, refining the jawline, softening the smile, until the face on the screen stopped looking like a composite and started looking like someone real.

The first dozen results were plastic. Uncanny. Women who smiled with too many teeth or stared with the dead eyes of department store mannequins. He scrapped them and started again. New prompts. Different lighting prompts. Golden hour. Overcast afternoon. Ring light. By the fourth hour the images began to shift. A subtle asymmetry in the nose. A small mole near the left eyebrow. The faint suggestion of pores in the skin texture. The kind of imperfections that signaled authenticity.

He named her Jade.

@sunlit.jade. The bio wrote itself: Fitness | Wellness | Living out loud 🌞 DM for collabs. He filled the feed with twenty-seven scheduled posts. Bikini shots by pools she’d never visited. Gym selfies in leggings she’d never worn. A smoothie bowl photographed on a marble countertop that didn’t exist. In seven of the posts her face was clearly visible, smiling at the camera with the easy confidence of a woman who had never doubted her own desirability. He scheduled them across two weeks, spacing them like breadcrumbs.

He needed the account to look lived-in before he made a move. He needed followers. Credibility. The kind of soft, empty presence that would slide into Adrian Parker’s orbit without raising a single red flag.

His phone buzzed. Simone, texting from the bedroom: You coming to bed soon?

Ethan typed back: Wrapping up a few things. Don’t wait up.

He stared at the screen a moment longer, at the face he had built from code and intention. Then he closed the browser, locked the computer, and sat in the dark office until his breathing steadied. Three years of marriage. Three years of careful, steady, sensible love. And now he was constructing a ghost to bait the man he suspected of trying to seduce his wife.

While the fake profile accumulated likes from bots and bored strangers, life on the street continued.

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Simone first noticed the restlessness in late spring. Ethan had already left for work. The house sat quiet around her, tidy and still, the way it always did after he pulled out of the driveway.

She couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong. The marriage wasn’t bad. Ethan was kind, steady, the sort of man who remembered anniversaries and never raised his voice. He came home at the same time every evening, kissed her cheek before bed, asked how her day had been and actually listened. Their sex life was routine, once or twice a week, always loving and careful. He never rushed her. He held her afterward like she might break. It was gentle. Safe. And if she was honest, thoroughly boring. Soft orgasms that left her vaguely grateful and vaguely empty.

And yet.

She’d find herself staring out windows. Lingering in the shower longer than necessary. Touching herself at odd hours, after he’d fallen asleep, quick and furtive under the covers while her husband breathed deep and even beside her. The orgasms were functional, small releases that left her feeling hollow rather than satisfied. Something was missing. She couldn’t name it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Then the morning jog happened.

She’d seen the new neighbour before, of course, glimpses of a dark-haired figure getting into a black Mustang, the occasional thump of music from three doors down. But she’d never really looked at him. That morning, rounding the corner with her earbuds in, Rihanna thumping in her ears, she looked.

He was shirtless on the porch, coffee mug in hand, chest and shoulders carved in a way that made her stride falter for half a step. Dark eyes. Sharp jaw. A smirk that suggested he knew exactly what she was thinking even before she knew it herself. Her nipples tightened against the fabric of her racerback. She felt the heat rise up her throat and fixed her eyes forward, pretending she hadn’t noticed.

Ethan waved. The neighbour waved back. Simone kept running, but her heart was pounding harder than the jog warranted, and it had nothing to do with cardio.

She thought about him all day. While watering the roses. While folding laundry. While setting the table for dinner. She thought about the way his eyes had tracked her, unashamed, possessive, like he was already undressing her in his mind. Ethan had never looked at her that way. Not even in the beginning, when everything was new and exciting. Ethan’s desire had always been polite. Restrained. As if wanting her too much might be impolite.

The next afternoon, when the knock came at the front door, she opened it without checking the peephole.

The hot neighbour stood on her porch in a thin green shirt stretched tight across his chest. Up close he was even more distracting. Clear skin, beautiful smile, eyes that held a permanent glint of mischief.

“Hey,” he said, easy as anything. “I’m Adrian. I live three doors down.”

She was acutely aware that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples were visible through the thin cotton of her tank top, and she saw his gaze drop, just for a second, before returning to her face. She didn’t cross her arms. Didn’t step back.

“I’m Simone.”

They talked for twenty minutes. He leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. He asked about the neighbourhood, about her garden, about whether she did Pilates. When he said she had the body for it, the flush that crept up her throat was part embarrassment and part something else entirely. Something that made her pulse beat in places she’d almost forgotten about.

By the time he left, she’d already decided she wanted to see him again.

Ethan came home early that afternoon, earlier than usual, and found her setting the table with shaky hands. She felt a flash of panic, irrational, she told herself, nothing had happened, and forced a smile.

But before she could say a word, Ethan spoke.

“I just met our new neighbour outside,” he said, setting his briefcase down by the door. His voice was measured, careful. “Adrian. He was cutting across our lawn.”

Simone’s hand stilled over a plate. “Oh?”

“I asked him what he was doing here.” Ethan’s eyes searched her face. “He said he’d already introduced himself. Said he knocked earlier.”

The silence stretched between them like a wire pulled taut. Simone set the plate down with exaggerated care, keeping her back to him. “He did. Just being friendly. New in the neighbourhood and all.”

Ethan stepped closer. Not angry, that wasn’t his way. But there was something in his tone that hadn’t been there before. A quiet edge.

“He seems… eager,” Ethan said slowly. “I noticed him watching you the other morning. On the porch. He didn’t exactly hide it.”

Simone turned, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel. “He’s young. Probably doesn’t think much about, I don’t know, boundaries.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Actually, I thought maybe we should have him over for dinner. Get to know him properly. That way he’s not a stranger anymore.”

Ethan studied her. She could feel his gaze on her skin like a question he hadn’t quite formed yet. Her cheeks were warm, her thighs pressed together beneath the tablecloth.

“You want to invite him into our home,” Ethan said. It wasn’t quite a question.

“I thought it might be nice,” she said, a little too quickly. “Neighbourly.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. She watched him pick up his glass of water.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, and took a long, slow drink, watching her over the rim.

He didn’t say yes, but it wasn’t a no either, and Simone felt the guilt settle in her stomach like a stone she was already learning to carry.

The dinner was a disaster of her own making.

She’d bought the burgundy dress specifically for that night, spent forty minutes on her hair, put on lipstick she hadn’t worn in months. Adrian arrived early with a bottle of wine and a smile that made her knees go soft. They sat on the same side of the long table, shoulders nearly touching, while Ethan sat across from them. She laughed too loudly at Adrian’s jokes. Touched his arm when she made a point. Drank more wine than she usually did.

When she spilled the wine on her dress, it was almost a relief. An excuse to escape the tension. But Ethan followed her inside, helped her dab at the stain, and she felt the weight of his presence like a reprimand. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. She could feel his unease radiating off him in waves.

And still, when he announced he was going to bed, she didn’t follow.

She stayed outside with Adrian under the fairy lights. The night had cooled. Crickets were starting. They talked in low voices about nothing important, and then the conversation slowed, and he was looking at her with those dark eyes, and her heart was beating so hard she was sure he could hear it.

When he kissed her, she didn’t hesitate.

His mouth was warm and sure, nothing like Ethan’s careful kisses. He kissed her like he was claiming territory. A small voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to stop, to remember the husband sleeping upstairs. She ignored it.

What followed was less about the physical details and more about the feeling that flooded her: the dizzy, sickening rush of doing something she knew was wrong, and the way that wrongness only sharpened the want. There was a dominance in him she hadn’t known she craved, something that cut through the careful politeness of her marriage and left her trembling. She came with her husband’s name on the tip of her tongue and swallowed it down, the orgasm tangled tight with shame.

That night she lay beside Ethan, staring at the ceiling. The guilt was sharp. She had cheated. She had let a younger man put his hands on her while her husband slept upstairs. She hated herself for the weakness, the greed, the way she had looked at Adrian’s carefree smile and decided she wanted more. And underneath the self-hatred burned something hotter: the thrill. The secret. The knowledge that she had done something irreversible and already wanted to do it again.

The next morning she could barely sit still through breakfast. The second Ethan’s car left the driveway she was on her feet.

She walked to Adrian’s house with her head down, yoga pants and a zip-up hoodie, hair in a messy bun. Her heart pounded. Her body ached with a hunger that had less to do with sex than with the way he made her feel, seen, wanted, a little ruined.

He opened the door before she could knock. His smile was lazy and knowing.

The moment it closed behind her, the surrender took over. There was no careful negotiation here. He took. She gave. And the giving felt like relief.

What happened blurred into sensation and emotion rather than clear sequence. His dominance undid her. The way he spoke, filthy, certain, proprietary, should have made her recoil. Instead it made her feel claimed in a way Ethan’s gentle respect never had. She hated herself for responding so completely. She hated that she needed it.

Then he reached for his phone. The camera light blinked on.

She had never been filmed before. The realisation hit her like cold water and heat at the same time. She should have said no. She should have covered herself, stopped him, walked out. Instead she stayed exactly where she was, heart hammering, and let him. The act itself, the knowledge that he was recording her, that this moment would exist outside her body, made her wet and nervous in equal measure. The sheer depravity of it turned her on more than she wanted to admit. Later he told her, almost casually, that he would watch the videos when she wasn’t there. That he would use them. The image of him alone, phone in hand, replaying her surrendered face and open mouth, sent a fresh wave of shame and arousal through her so strong she had to close her eyes.

She came harder than she had in years, the pleasure knotted tight with the knowledge of what she was doing, who she was betraying, and the fact that he now owned proof of it.

Afterward she lay in his sheets, body raw. She should have felt like a terrible wife. Instead she felt more alive than she had in years, and the aliveness only made the guilt sharper.

She went back the next day. And the next.

It became a routine. Ethan left at 8:45. By 9:00 she was at Adrian’s door. The first thing she did, every time, was drop to her knees. He’d trained her that way, or she’d trained herself; she wasn’t sure anymore. She just knew that the second she stepped inside his house she needed his cock in her mouth. She needed him to grab her hair and call her a slut. She needed the degradation, the complete surrender, the way he looked at her like she was a toy he couldn’t wait to break. The dominance settled something restless in her that years of careful, loving sex had never touched. His habit of taking what he wanted, whenever he wanted it, had become like a drug. The unpredictability, the lack of negotiation, the sheer certainty in him—it left her shaking and craving the next dose.

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He sat on the porch with his coffee, the mug warm between his palms, and watched the married couple jog past. Watched her. The blonde ponytail swinging, those full fucking breasts bouncing in that tight racerback top, the way her ass moved in those leggings like it was designed to make men stupid. Every morning it was the same. Every morning he’d sit here, shirtless, letting the morning sun hit his chest, and wait for them to pass. His black Mustang sat in the driveway behind him, still cool from the night.

Adrian watched the husband run beside her. Early thirties, handsome in an understated way, with the kind of lean, athletic build that came from discipline rather than genetics. His jaw was sharp, his shoulders square, and his calves had the defined cut of a man who logged real miles. He moved with efficiency, the steady, metronomic stride of someone who tracked his pace on a watch and reproached himself for every second lost.

But it was the routine that gave him away. The same route every morning. The same black shorts, the same grey tee, the same sensible haircut that had never once been adventurous. He was a man who optimized everything, his sleep, his diet, his marriage, until the optimization itself became the point. There was no hunger in him, no wild impulse. Just the quiet, respectable machinery of a life well-maintained.

Adrian smirked into his coffee. The woman beside his neighbour radiated something her husband had either lost or never possessed. And the husband didn’t even seem to notice the way Adrian’s gaze lingered on her. Or worse, he noticed and said nothing.

Adrian waved when the husband waved. Habit, politeness, whatever. His eyes stayed on Simone’s tits the whole time. He didn’t bother hiding it. The husband’s stride hitched for a half-second, and Adrian felt a small pulse of satisfaction. Good. Let him notice. Let him wonder.

The second they rounded the corner, Adrian set his coffee down, went inside, and pulled up the footage from the security camera he’d angled toward the sidewalk. He’d installed it the week he moved in, partly for safety, mostly for moments like this. He scrolled back, found the clip, and froze the frame where Simone was mid-stride, chest forward, nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric.

He jerked off right there at his desk, one hand working his cock, the other holding his phone with the frozen image. He came hard, imagining those breasts in his hands, imagining her mouth wrapped around him, imagining the look on the husband’s face when he eventually figured out what was happening.

Adrian cleaned up, showered, and got to work. Digital marketing had been his gateway, but influencer management was where the real money lived now. He’d started five years ago, straight out of high school, back when he was still in a shitty apartment, grinding out social media campaigns for local businesses between gym sessions, then completing his marketing degree at community college in the evenings. One pivot led to another, and now he ran a small roster of fitness models and lifestyle personalities. It was easy money, the kind that required more charm than intelligence, and Adrian had charm in spades. He owned the house outright at twenty-two, worked maybe four hours a day, and spent the rest of his time doing whatever he pleased.

What he wanted, increasingly, was his neighbour’s hot wife.

He started learning her schedule after their early morning runs. The husband left for work at 8:45, same car, same route. Simone watered the roses around nine. Sometimes she’d go to the grocery store mid-morning. Sometimes she’d sit in the backyard with a book. The house was quiet during the day, no kids, no dogs, just her and her restless energy and a husband who clearly wasn’t giving her what she needed.

Adrian could see it in the way she moved. The way her eyes lingered on him that first morning when he’d been shirtless on the porch. The way she’d pretend not to notice him staring at her tits, but her stride would slow just slightly, her back would arch just a little more. She wanted to be looked at. She wanted to be wanted.

Most women did. The trick was knowing which ones would actually do something about it.

Three days later, Adrian saw the husband’s car pull out of the driveway at the usual time. He waited until late afternoon, then put on a clean shirt, thin, green, tight across the chest, and walked across the lawns.

Simone answered the door in a tank top. No bra.

Adrian’s cock twitched immediately. Her nipples were tight against the fabric, clearly visible, and she didn’t cross her arms or step back or make any move to hide them. She looked surprised to see him, but not unhappy.

“Hi,” she said, and her voice was softer than he expected. Breathier.

“Hey. I’m Adrian. I live three doors down.” He gestured vaguely behind him. “I figured I should introduce myself properly. I’ve been a terrible neighbour.”

She smiled. A real smile, not the polite one married women usually gave him. “You’re not terrible. We’ve just never met formally.” She stepped back from the door. “I’m Simone.”

“Nice to meet you. I see you jogging every morning.”

The words hung between them. She knew what he meant. He’d been watching. She’d known he was watching. The faint flush that crept up her throat told him everything.

“Yeah,” she said, and there it was, her eyes dropped. Just for a second. Down to his chest, his stomach, his crotch. Then back up. “My husband and I… we try to stay active.”

“That’s good. Important to stay fit.” Adrian leaned against the doorframe, casual, easy. “You do yoga or anything? Pilates?”

Simone laughed, a little too quickly. “No, nothing like that. Just the jogging.”

“You’ve got the body for it. Pilates, I mean. You’d be good at it.”

The flush deepened. She didn’t tell him to stop. Didn’t mention her husband again. Instead she asked what he did, where he’d moved from, how he liked the neighborhood. They stood in the doorway for twenty minutes. She told him she’d been married three years. That Ethan worked in financial consulting and took his job seriously. That she used to work for a marketing agency too, before they moved here, but now she was taking some time off to figure out what she wanted.

Adrian filed all of it away. The job she’d left. The husband who worked long hours. The vague dissatisfaction in her voice when she talked about their quiet suburban life.

“You should come over sometime,” he said. “I’ve got a home gym in the basement. If you ever want to try weights or something. I could show you.”

Simone bit her lower lip. “I don’t know if I can. I mean…” She trailed off, not finishing the thought.

“Just being neighborly,” Adrian said, and smiled. “No pressure.”

When he left, he walked back across the lawn without looking back, but he could feel her watching him through the screen door. He adjusted himself as he walked, not bothering to hide it, and let himself get hard thinking about what was coming next.

Just then Ethan came home earlier than usual. Adrian was cutting across the corner of their front lawn, shortcut, no real thought behind it, when the husband’s car pulled into the driveway. Ethan stepped out still in his work clothes, tie loosened, and stopped cold when he saw Adrian on the grass.

“Hey.”

The word came out sharp. Adrian kept walking a few more steps before he noticed, then pulled out one earbud and turned.

“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to trespass. Just wanted to introduce myself properly. We never have.”

Ethan didn’t move closer. “And you figured my lawn was the best path for that.”

Adrian smiled, half-apologetic, half-not. “Your wife said you were the serious type.”

The husband’s spine stiffened. “You’ve met my wife?”

“Earlier today. She was out front watering the roses. Nice woman. Friendly.”

He let the pause sit just long enough.

“Adrian Parker.” He extended his hand, still standing in the grass. “I own the corner house. Moved in about four months ago. Work from home—digital marketing, mostly. Figured I should finally say hello before someone called the cops on me.”

Ethan took the hand. Brief grip, polite, released quickly. “Ethan.”

“Yeah, she mentioned. Simone said you’re in financial consulting?”

“That’s right.”

Adrian nodded, rocking back on his heels, still on the grass. “Well, sorry about the lawn. I’ll use the walkway next time.”

“Appreciate it.”

He lingered another moment, eyes drifting toward the house, then gave a small wave and walked off toward his own property. He could feel Ethan watching him the entire way.

That night he jerked off again. Same image. Same fantasy. But this time it felt closer. Realer. The way she’d looked at him, the way her nipples had tightened when he’d complimented her body, the way she’d bitten her lip when he mentioned his home gym. She was interested. Maybe she didn’t know it yet, or maybe she knew it and was scared to admit it, but she was interested.

The next day, she knocked on his door.

Adrian opened it and found her standing on his porch in a sundress, holding a plate of cookies like she was playing some kind of fifties housewife fantasy. Her hair was down. She’d put on lipstick.

“I felt bad,” she said, offering the plate. “You came over to introduce yourself and I never returned the favor.”

“Cookies. Damn.” He took the plate, let his fingers brush hers. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s nothing. Ethan thought it was a good idea.”

Adrian doubted that. Ethan had looked at him like he was a cockroach on the sidewalk. But he didn’t say that. He invited her in for coffee. She hesitated, just long enough for him to notice, and then stepped inside.

He gave her a tour. The living room, the kitchen, the back deck. The basement, with its squat rack and bench and mirror wall. “This is where I spend most of my time,” he said, gesturing at the equipment. “When I’m not working.”

Simone stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed loosely under her breasts, looking at the weight plates stacked in the corner. “It’s impressive. Ethan used to lift, back before we got married.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “Life, I guess. Work got busy. He stopped making time for it.”

“You should never stop making time for the things that make you feel good.” Adrian let the words sit. Then he stepped closer, just slightly into her space. “What makes you feel good, Simone?”

Her breath caught. He heard it. A small pause, barely perceptible, but it was there. She looked at him, eyes wide, and for a moment he thought about kissing her right then, in the basement, with the mirrors reflecting them from every angle. He could do it. She’d let him. He could see it in the way her lips parted, the way her chest rose and fell a little faster.

But he pulled back. Not yet. The timing wasn’t right. She needed to come to him. She needed to think it was her idea.

“More coffee?” he asked, and her expression flickered between relief and something else. Disappointment, maybe.

“I should probably go,” she said. But she didn’t move.

“The dinner,” Adrian said. “You mentioned Ethan might want to have me over. Is that still happening?”

Simone nodded. “I’ll talk to him tonight. He’s… he’s not great with new people. But I’ll convince him.”

Adrian smiled. “I bet you’re good at convincing.”

She left with a flush on her cheeks and a nervous energy in her step. Adrian watched her walk all the way back to her house, her hips swaying, her sundress catching the afternoon light. Then he went back inside, pulled out his phone, and opened Instagram.

He had a private account. Only a few hundred followers, mostly women he’d hooked up with and guys he’d met at the gym. He posted photos of himself, shirtless, flexing, the kind of photos that got comments like “daddy” and “ruin me” and the fire emoji string. He’d been posting for years. It was an ego thing, partly. But it was also a record. Every woman he’d fucked, every conquest, documented in careful detail.

He scrolled through the recent posts. A girl from the gym, twenty-three, tight body, gone after two weeks. A bartender from downtown, lasted a month, got too clingy. A married woman from his old neighbourhood, that one had been messy, the husband found out, there’d been threats. Adrian had moved shortly after. Paid cash for this house, started fresh, promised himself he’d be more careful this time.

But careful was boring. Careful was what men like Ethan did. Adrian didn’t do careful.

The dinner happened a week later. Adrian showed up early, bottle of wine in hand, dressed nice but casual. He’d trimmed his stubble, put on cologne, made sure his shirt was tight enough to show the definition in his chest. Simone answered the door in a burgundy dress he hadn’t seen before, something new, something she’d probably bought for this exact night even if she wouldn’t admit it. Her hair was down. Her lips were glossy. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.

Ethan stood behind her, looking like he’d swallowed something sour.

They ate outside on the back deck under the fairy lights. A long rectangular table. Simone and Adrian on the left side, chairs close. Ethan alone on the right, watching them across the candles. The dinner was awkward, not because of Simone. She was animated, laughing, leaning forward when Adrian talked, touching his arm when she made a joke. The awkwardness came from Ethan, who sat like a stone statue, answering questions with one-word responses, watching every interaction with the intensity of a security guard.

Adrian played it cool. Complimented the steaks. Asked Ethan about his work. Laughed at Simone’s jokes. He was the perfect guest, polite, engaged, respectful. He could see Ethan trying to find a reason to dislike him and failing. That was the beauty of it. Adrian knew how to be charming. He knew how to make people like him. And the more Ethan struggled to find fault with him, the more guilty he’d feel about his own suspicion.

After dessert, Ethan announced he was going to bed. Early meeting. Adrian shook his hand across the table. “Thanks for having me, man. This was great.”

Ethan’s grip was firm but his eyes were tired. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

He kissed Simone’s cheek, barely, a perfunctory peck, and disappeared into the house. The glass door slid shut behind him. Adrian waited until the footsteps faded, then turned to Simone.

They stayed outside.

For the next twenty minutes they just talked. Soft voices under the fairy lights. She asked about his work, about living alone in a house that size. He asked about the neighborhood, about how long she’d lived here, about what she missed from the city. She refilled their wine glasses. The night air cooled. Crickets started. She laughed at something he said, quiet and private, and the sound went straight to his cock.

Eventually the conversation slowed. She looked at the dark house, then back at him.

“He seems tense,” Adrian said, voice low.

Simone looked at the door, then back at him. “He’s been working a lot.”

“That’s hard on a marriage.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Her eyes said everything.

Adrian reached across the table. Slowly. Gave her time to pull away. When she didn’t, he touched her chin, tilted her face toward his, and kissed her.

Her lips were soft. Warm. She didn’t push him away. Didn’t even hesitate. Her mouth opened against his, and her hand came up to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He deepened the kiss, tasting wine and chocolate and something hungrier underneath.

When he pulled back, her eyes were still closed.

“Adrian,” she whispered. Not a protest. A confirmation.

“Come here.”

He pulled her onto his lap, the chair creaking under their combined weight. Her dress rode up her thighs. His hands found the zipper at the back, pulled it down in one smooth motion, and the burgundy fabric sagged forward. He tugged it lower, exposing her breasts, full, pale, nipples already hard points against the night air.

“Jesus, Simone.” He didn’t pretend to be polite anymore. “These fucking tits are incredible.”

He took one nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, then pinched the other between his fingers, rolling and tugging until she gasped. Her hips jerked against him, grinding down on the bulge straining his jeans. He switched sides, sucking the second nipple while his fingers kept pinching and rolling the first. Her breathing went ragged. Her fingers tangled in his hair.

“Quiet,” he murmured against her skin. “Unless you want him to hear.”

She bit her lip. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest heaving. Adrian kept sucking and pinching, slow and deliberate, until her thighs started to tremble. Then his free hand slid between her legs, pushing the bunched fabric of her dress aside. She was wet already, soaking through her panties.

He pushed the thin material out of the way and rubbed slow circles over her clit with the pad of his middle finger. Soft at first, then firmer, matching the rhythm of his mouth on her nipple. She clenched around nothing, a strangled moan escaping her throat. He kept the circles steady, occasionally dipping lower to gather more wetness before returning to her clit, never quite giving her enough pressure to tip over.

“Fuck,” he breathed against her tits. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

Simone nodded, eyes squeezed shut.

“Tell me.”

“Yes.” The word came out broken. “Yes, I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about you. About this.”

Adrian kept rubbing those tight circles, sucking harder, pinching the other nipple just enough to make her flinch and then moan. Her hips rolled against his hand. Her nails dug into his shoulders.

“You’re going to come for me,” he said. Not a question. “Right here, on my fingers, while your husband is upstairs asleep.”

She came. Hard. Her whole body seized, back arching, mouth open in a silent cry. Adrian felt the rush of wetness against his fingers, felt the way she collapsed against his chest afterward like all the strength had drained out of her.

He withdrew his hand slowly, brought his fingers to his mouth, licked them clean. Her taste was sharp and sweet.

“That was just the beginning,” Adrian murmured, his voice low and smooth against her ear. He kissed her forehead gently, a gesture almost tender after everything.

She stayed on his lap, her body still humming with the aftershocks of what he had done to her beneath the fairy lights. Her dress hung loose around her shoulders, her breath still uneven. When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were glassy, searching his for something, reassurance, maybe, or permission.

Adrian smiled, something quiet and knowing. He lifted her easily, setting her on her feet, and stood himself. He adjusted his hard cock in his jeans, watching her as she steadied herself. Her hands came up to her chest, holding the dress closed, but she didn’t look ashamed. She looked like a woman who had just woken up.

“Walk me to the door,” he said, and it wasn’t a request.

She hesitated for only a beat, then nodded. She led him through the house, her bare feet silent on the carpet, the hem of the dress brushing her thighs. He followed close behind, close enough that he could smell her perfume mixed with the night air, close enough that his hand found the small of her back as they reached the front door.

She stood in the doorway, her silhouette backlit by the dim glow from the hallway, her hand still resting on the frame.

Adrian stepped onto the porch, then turned. He looked at her face, flushed and softened, her hair slightly mussed from his touch. He didn’t smile this time. He just held her gaze.

“Tomorrow,” he said quietly. “After he leaves. Don’t make me wait too long.”

She swallowed. Her fingers tightened on the doorframe. Then, without a word, she nodded. He watched her lips part, as if she might say something, but she only gave him one last look and pulled the door shut.

The next morning, after a tense interaction with Ethan on his morning run, she came over at 8:15.

Adrian was still on the porch, finishing his coffee. He saw Ethan’s car pull out of the driveway, saw the garage door close, saw Simone’s silhouette appear in the front window of their house. Five minutes later she was walking toward him, fast, head down, wearing yoga pants and a zip-up hoodie. Her hair was in a messy bun. No makeup.

She looked terrified. She looked desperate. And the second she stepped onto his porch he could already see it in her eyes, that hungry, restless need she tried so hard to hide in front of her husband.

Adrian took her hand, led her inside, and closed the door. The second the lock clicked she was already reaching for his belt.

“Look at you,” he said, voice low and amused as she fumbled with the buckle. “Couldn’t even wait five seconds. You’ve been thinking about my cock all night, haven’t you?”

She dropped to her knees, yanked his jeans down, and took him into her mouth like she’d been starving for it. Adrian hissed through his teeth, one hand settling in her messy bun. With his free hand he angled his phone just enough to catch the way her lips stretched around him. She never noticed the camera.

“Fuck… there it is. A married woman on her knees the second her husband leaves, already choking herself on another man’s dick.” He watched her work, then quietly locked the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. Later the clip would go straight to the private group chat, the fitness influencers, the ones who already knew exactly what he was doing.

He let her suck him until spit ran down her chin, then pulled her up by the hair, spun her around, and shoved her face-first against the wall. He yanked her yoga pants down, found her already dripping, and thrust into her in one hard stroke.

“This is what you wanted,” he grunted, fucking her deep. “My cock. Not his. Mine.”

“Yes—god, yes—”

“Tell me how hungry you were this morning. Sitting across from him at breakfast with your cunt already aching for me.”

“I was so fucking hungry for it,” she gasped. “I couldn’t stop thinking about your cock.”

He fucked her until her legs gave out, then carried her to the bedroom and made her suck him again before burying himself inside her.

Every day after that she came back. Sometimes for an hour. Sometimes all day. The first thing she did, every single time, was drop to her knees. Adrian trained her that way. He stopped asking. He simply opened the door, put his hand in her hair, and fed her his cock. She learned to open her mouth the second she stepped inside. She learned to look up at him while she sucked, eyes glassy, spit running down her chin. She learned that the filthier he talked, the wetter she got.

“That’s it,” he’d murmur, holding her head still so he could fuck her throat. “Starving for it. You spend all night next to your husband and the second you’re free you’re choking on me. You love this cock more than you love being a good wife.”

She would moan around him every time, the sound pure confirmation.

He recorded almost all of it. Short clips. Angles she never noticed. The group chat lived for them.

Married slut is addicted
Look how she takes it
Husband doesn’t stand a chance

One afternoon he took it further.

He picked her up after she finished a quick errand and drove them downtown. Ethan’s office building sat across the street, glass and steel, people in suits walking in and out with coffee. Adrian parked in a quiet spot with a clear view of the entrance, killed the engine, and told her to get in the passenger seat properly.

“On your back,” he said. “Head on the floor. Legs up on the seat.”

Simone hesitated only a second, then obeyed. She ended up half on the floor mat, knees bent, legs spread wide across the passenger seat, skirt pushed up around her waist. Adrian leaned over from the driver’s side, phone already recording, and slid two fingers straight into her.

She was soaked.

“Look at the building,” he said, voice calm while he worked his fingers in and out. “Your husband’s up there right now. Probably in a meeting. Completely clueless.” He added a third finger and curled them. “Say hi to Ethan.”

Simone let out a broken little laugh that turned into a moan. “H-hi, Ethan”

Adrian shoved a fourth finger in and pressed hard against her front wall. “Louder. Say it like you mean it.”

“Hi, Ethan” she gasped, hips jerking. “Hi—fuck”

He kept the pressure ruthless, thumb rubbing tight circles on her clit while his fingers pumped. “That’s it. Let him hear how wet you get when I’m inside you. Let the camera see what a desperate little slut his wife is.”

She came hard, legs shaking, a sudden gush of wetness spilling over his hand and onto the seat. Adrian laughed, low and satisfied, and kept the phone steady until the last tremor left her body. Then he stopped the recording.

He sent the video to the group chat before they even left the parking lot.

The replies came fast.

omg that so brutal
the cuck husband at work not knowing his slut wife is getting fingerbanged out the front
she squirted for the camera holy shit
this is elite

Adrian locked the phone and looked over at Simone, still half on the floor, breathing hard, thighs shiny.

“Good girl,” he said simply. “Clean yourself up. We’re going home.”

After that, something shifted.

She stopped hesitating. She stopped looking guilty in the mornings. She started showing up already wet, already ready, already reaching for his belt before the door closed. He stopped treating her like a woman he was fucking and started treating her like a toy that belonged to him.

He made her suck him while he scrolled the group chat. He made her bend over the kitchen island and hold herself open while he filmed. He made her say filthy things on camera, “I’m Ethan’s wife and I’m addicted to Adrian’s cock”—and then sent the clips to the guys who cheered every new degradation.

She’s fully broken
Personal sex toy status achieved
Keep breaking her king

Simone never saw the messages. She only saw the way Adrian looked at her afterward, possessive, satisfied, like he already owned every part of her that used to belong to someone else.

They still went for walks. She still held his hand. She still laughed more than she had in years. But underneath the laughter was the quiet, constant knowledge that the second they were alone he would put her on her knees again, or spread her open, or make her say her husband’s name while she came on his fingers.

One night in the basement, after he’d fucked her across the weight bench until she was shaking, she lay there panting while he scrolled his phone.

“I want to show you off,” he said. “Everyone should see how happy we are.”

Simone smiled, lazy and completely gone. “You really think I’m beautiful?”

“I think you’re the hottest woman I’ve ever fucked,” he answered, matter-of-fact. “And I think your husband is an idiot for not appreciating what he has. Look how desperate you get for this cock. You come over here every morning already wet, already ready to drop to your knees. He has no idea what he’s missing.”

Something flickered in her eyes. Old guilt, almost gone now, surfacing like a ghost she thought she’d buried. Then it was replaced by that hungry look, the one she always got when he mentioned Ethan, the look that told Adrian she was already imagining her husband’s face when he finally found out, already imagining the collapse of everything she’d built with him, and wanting it anyway.

But before the hunger could settle, her gaze dropped to the phone in his hand. The screen was still lit, still showing the photo he’d just posted. The soft, sunlit kiss in the park, her hand resting gently on his chest, their mouths meeting in a quiet, almost tender moment. They looked like any new couple in love.

She stared at it, and her expression changed.

“Adrian…” Her voice was small. Uncertain. “That photo. If anyone sees it… if Ethan finds out…” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, wearing nothing but his button-down shirt from the night before. “I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready for any of this to get out.”

He set the phone down and crossed the room, taking her face gently in his hands. Her skin was warm, her pulse quick beneath his thumbs. “Hey. Look at me.”

She did, reluctantly.

“That account is private,” he said, voice low and steady. “Only people I trust can see it. People I’ve known for years, people who have their own secrets to protect. No one who knows Ethan. No one who would ever say a word to him.”

“But the comments…” She swallowed. “They’re asking who I am.”

“They ask about every girl I post.” He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “And I never answer. They don’t know your name. They don’t know your face beyond a photo they’ll forget in a week. You’re safe.”

She searched his eyes, looking for the lie. He held her gaze without flinching.

“I promise you,” he said softly, his thumb tracing her jawline. “Your husband will never see it. This stays between us. Just us.”

Simone let out a shaky breath, then nodded, pressing her forehead to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling the tension slowly drain from her body.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

He kissed the top of her head, but when her eyes were closed, he let his gaze drift to the phone on the bed. The screen had gone dark, but the image was still burned into his mind, the soft park light, the way she had melted into the kiss, the perfect picture of a loving new couple.

And in the comments were already rolling in from his followers.

New girlfriend?

She’s gorgeous.

Lucky bastard.

Adrian smiled against her hair. She didn’t need to know the rest.

Little did Adrian know that harmless Instagram post would be his undoing.

To be continued…

Next chapter link below…

Ahead, three doors down from their own place, sat the corner house with the wide front porch. Ethan had barely registered it before. Someone had moved in a few months back, he’d seen the moving truck from his car window one morning, but the new owner kept odd hours and the blinds were always drawn. Today, though, someone was out front.

A young guy leaned against the porch railing, shirtless, a coffee mug cradled loosely in one hand. Early twenties, Ethan guessed. Dark hair cut short, jaw sharp, chest and shoulders carrying the kind of lean muscle that came from disciplined workouts rather than casual activity. He looked like he belonged in a gym advertisement, and he seemed entirely comfortable with the fact.

Ethan lifted his hand in a neighborly wave. Habit. The kid raised his mug in return. His gaze drifted toward Simone for a moment longer than necessary, then away again as she jogged past. Nothing more than a look. Still, Ethan’s stride hitched for half a step. He fixed his eyes ahead and pushed the pace a little harder for the rest of the run.

The kid’s house disappeared behind them. Ethan didn’t turn around.

Over the next few days, Ethan found himself glancing toward that porch every time they passed. Wednesday morning, the chair sat empty. Thursday, a black Mustang sat in the driveway. By Friday, he’d almost pushed the whole thing from his mind. Almost.

That afternoon, he came home early. A client meeting had canceled. He pulled into the driveway at 3:47 PM, still in his work clothes, loosening his tie as he stepped out of the car.

Movement on his front lawn stopped him.

The same young man was cutting diagonally across the grass, phone in hand, earbuds in. He wasn’t on the sidewalk. He was five strides deep into the freshly edged St. Augustine that Ethan had spent the previous Saturday mowing.

“Hey.”

The word came out sharper than intended. The kid didn’t hear him at first. Ethan stepped forward and raised his voice.

“I said, hey. You’re on my lawn.”

The kid paused, pulled out one earbud, and turned. Up close he looked even younger. Clear skin, dark eyes, that same gym-built frame. He offered a half-smile that managed to be both apologetic and unconcerned.

“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to trespass. Just wanted to introduce myself properly. We never have.”

Ethan didn’t move closer. “And you figured my lawn was the best path for that.”

The smile widened a fraction. “Your wife said you were the serious type.”

The words landed wrong. Ethan felt his spine stiffen.

“You’ve met my wife?”

“Earlier today. She was out front watering the roses.” He gestured toward the flower bed. “Nice woman. Friendly.”

There was a slight pause before the last word, nothing dramatic.

“Adrian Parker.” He extended his hand, still standing in the grass. “I own the corner house. Moved in about four months ago. Work from home, digital marketing, mostly. Figured I should finally say hello before someone called the cops on me.”

Ethan took the hand. Brief grip, polite, released quickly. “Ethan.”

“Yeah, she mentioned. Simone said you’re in financial consulting?”

She’d given him both names and Ethan’s job. The conversation had lasted longer than a quick introduction.

“That’s right.”

Adrian nodded, rocking back on his heels. Still on the grass. “Well, sorry about the lawn. I’ll use the walkway next time.”

“Appreciate it.”

Ethan waited. Adrian lingered another moment, eyes drifting toward the house, then gave a small wave and walked off toward his own property.

The screen door slapped shut behind Ethan as he entered the kitchen. Simone stood at the counter arranging silverware beside two plates. She’d changed out of her gardening clothes into a sundress. Her cheeks held a light flush.

“You okay?” she asked.

Ethan set his keys down. “That kid from the corner house just walked across our front yard.”

“Adrian?”

The name came easily.

“You met him earlier, apparently.”

Simone’s hands paused over the forks. “He knocked around noon. Wanted to introduce himself.” She resumed arranging, movements a little self-conscious. “He’s nice. Twenty-two, lives alone in that big house. Owns it outright, he said. Works from home doing marketing and influencer managing.”

She’d gathered a fair amount of information for a doorstep chat.

“He mentioned,” Ethan said.

Simone bit her lower lip, a familiar tell. “I was thinking… maybe we could invite him over for dinner sometime? He’s new. Doesn’t know anyone. And he’s close to our age.”

“He’s twenty-two, Simone. We’re not his age.”

“You’re thirty-one, I’m twenty-six. It’s not like we’re retirees.” She smiled, a little too brightly. “It’d be neighborly. You’re always saying we should get to know the people on this street.”

Ethan pulled out his chair and sat. The food smelled good, but his appetite had dulled. He watched her face, the flush, the restless fingers smoothing her napkin.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, and picked up his fork.

That night he couldn’t sleep.

Simone lay beside him, breathing deep and even. Ethan stared at the ceiling and replayed the past few days: the look on the porch, the casual trespass, the way Simone’s cheeks had colored when she said Adrian’s name.

He wasn’t an unreasonable man. He didn’t fly into jealous rages. He’d always prided himself on being measured. But something about Adrian Parker scraped at him. The kid was too comfortable. Too sure of himself.

And Simone had looked at him with something that wasn’t pure politeness.

A week later, morning arrived grey and humid. They skipped the run, Simone pleaded a cramp, and Ethan didn’t push. He spent the day at the office, focus fractured. At lunch he pulled up a property records search. Adrian Parker. Deed transferred four months ago. No mortgage. Paid cash.

At five, Ethan drove home through a light drizzle. He turned onto their street and eased off the accelerator.

Adrian’s Mustang was parked in front of his house.

Simone’s car sat in their driveway, driver’s door open, interior light on. She stood beside it, phone in hand, staring toward the corner house. The screen was dark.

He pulled in beside her and got out.

“Simone?”

She startled. “Oh. You’re home.”

“Same time as always.” He looked at the open door. “Heading somewhere?”

“Just to the store. I was going to grab some wine for tonight.” The words came out quickly.

“Tonight?”

“For dinner.” She saw his expression and pressed on. “You said you’d think about having Adrian over. I texted him this afternoon to see if he was free.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened. “I said I’d think about it. I didn’t say yes.”

Simone’s expression flickered between defiance and embarrassment. “He’s lonely. He told me he’s been eating takeout every night. I thought it would be a nice gesture.”

“You thought it would be a nice gesture,” Ethan repeated, voice level. “And you invited him without waiting to discuss it.”

“I was going to tell you the moment you got home.” Her chin stayed lifted. “It’s just dinner. An hour. Maybe two. What’s the harm in being kind to a neighbour?”

Ethan took a breath, nodded once. “Fine. Invite him over. I’ll grill the steaks.”

Simone’s face brightened. She kissed his cheek, quick, and hurried inside.

Ethan stood in the driveway a moment longer. From three houses down came the faint thump of music.

He went inside and changed.

Adrian arrived at 6:47, thirteen minutes early, holding a bottle of wine.

He’d cleaned up. Dark jeans, button-down with the sleeves rolled, hair still damp from a shower. He smelled like something expensive and understated.

“Ethan,” he said, extending his hand. “Thanks for having me. I’ve been losing my mind in that house by myself.”

His grip was firm, eye contact direct. The moment Simone appeared in the kitchen doorway, his gaze shifted to her, quick, then back.

She’d changed into a dress Ethan hadn’t seen before. Deep burgundy, fitted through the bodice, neckline modest but lower than her usual. Hair down, a touch of lipstick.

Adrian’s eyes moved over her once, then settled on her face.

“Simone. Nice dress.”

She smiled, a little self-conscious, and took the wine. Their fingers brushed. Neither pulled away immediately.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” she said.

“Figured it was the least I could do.”

Ethan stood in the hallway watching the exchange. “I’ll get the grill going,” he said. “We’re eating outside tonight.”

Simone had already prepared the back deck. A long rectangular table sat beneath the strings of warm fairy lights that hung through the garden, draped along the fence and woven through the low branches of the Japanese maple. Soft gold light pooled across the dark wood surface and the white runner that ran down its center. Candles flickered between the place settings. The air smelled of cut grass and the last of the day’s heat.

Ethan grilled the steaks while Simone and Adrian stayed near the kitchen, talking in low voices. When the food was ready they carried everything out together, plates, wine, a simple salad, the chocolate tart waiting under a cover.

They sat at the rectangular table. Simone and Adrian took the left side, chairs close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. Ethan sat alone on the right, facing them across the candles and the small vase of white flowers.

Conversation moved easily between Simone and Adrian, music, travel, workouts. Ethan contributed when asked. The night was mild, the fairy lights soft against the darkening sky. At one point Simone’s wine glass tipped. A few drops landed on the front of her dress. She dabbed at it with her napkin.

“I should rinse this before it sets,” she said, standing.

Adrian half-rose. “I can help if you want. Cold water works better if you catch it early.”

Ethan was already on his feet. He stepped around the end of the table, one hand settling lightly at the small of Simone’s back.

“It’s fine,” he said, voice even. “I’ve got it. I can help my wife.”

He didn’t look at Adrian while he said it. He simply guided Simone toward the kitchen door, the message clear in the way he stayed close and left no space for anyone else to follow.

Inside, he ran cold water over a clean cloth and handed it to her. She pressed it carefully against the fabric. Neither of them spoke. When they returned to the deck the stain was mostly gone. Simone sat back down on the left side, a little farther from Adrian this time. Ethan returned to his place on the right.

Dessert was quiet. The fairy lights hummed faintly. Crickets had started in the garden. Adrian complimented the tart. Simone smiled. The conversation drifted into quieter territory, neighborhood stories, the difference between living alone and living with someone. Nothing sharp. Nothing obvious.

At a little after nine, Ethan pushed his chair back.

“I think I’m going to turn in. Early meeting tomorrow.”

Simone looked at him, then at the half-finished bottle of wine. “Already?”

“You two finish if you want. Adrian, thanks for coming.” He extended his hand across the table. Adrian shook it without standing. “Simone, I’ll see you upstairs.”

He kissed her cheek. She didn’t turn fully toward him.

Ethan went inside. Through the glass doors he could see them still at the rectangular table, the fairy lights casting small moving shadows across their faces. Their voices were low. Simone laughed once, soft, almost private.

He left the doors unlocked and went upstairs.

Upstairs, Ethan closed the bedroom door and stood in the dark. Through the bedroom windows he could hear the low murmur of their voices, Simone’s quieter now, Adrian’s deeper. He sat on the edge of the bed, got undressed, and lay in the bed staring at the ceiling.

At 10:23 the front door closed. Footsteps on the stairs. The bedroom door opened and Simone slipped inside without turning on the light. She crossed to the bathroom, water ran, and when she emerged she slid into bed beside him without a word. She smelled faintly of wine and something woodsy that wasn’t her usual lotion.

Ethan stared at the ceiling.

The next morning Simone suggested they skip the run. She was tired, she said. Ethan pulled on his shoes anyway.

The morning air held that familiar crisp bite as he stepped onto the pavement. Past the Johnsons’, past the Millers’, past the neat hedges. Three doors down, the corner house.

Adrian was on the porch again.

This time he was leaning against the railing, coffee in hand, as if he’d been waiting. His eyes tracked Ethan’s approach with that same easy amusement.

“Morning, Ethan,” he called, voice light. “Simone not joining you today?”

Ethan slowed but didn’t stop.

Adrian’s smile stayed easy, open. “Morning, Ethan. Thanks again for having me over last night. That was real kind of you, Simone’s a hell of a cook, and the steaks were perfect.” He paused, then added, “It meant a lot. I’ve been here four months and you two are the first folks who’ve actually made me feel welcome in the neighborhood.”

Ethan kept his stride steady, but something in the kid’s tone, genuine, almost warm, made him slow a half-step. He didn’t want to stand here, didn’t want to give Adrian the time of day. But good manners had been drilled into him since childhood, and he was nothing if not well mannered.

“You’re welcome,” Ethan said, voice measured. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

Adrian nodded, lifting his mug in a small salute. “I did. And it was nice to finally get to know you both properly. Simone’s easy to talk to, she makes a person feel heard, you know?” He said it without a hint of calculation, just observation. “Anyway. If you ever need anything, help with the lawn, a hand moving something heavy, my door’s open. Neighbor to neighbor.”

Ethan forced a polite nod. “Appreciate that.”

Adrian’s smile widened a fraction, warm and easy. “Have a good run, Ethan.”

Ethan turned back to the pavement and kept going, but the words lingered longer than he wanted them to. The kid had been gracious. Unassuming. Almost… disarming.

And that, somehow, bothered him more than the smirk ever had.

Ethan had spent a years in rooms full of men who smiled like that. Men in tailored suits who could look you dead in the eye while quietly moving money in ways that would land them in prison if anyone ever bothered to check. He’d learned to read them the way a sailor reads weather. The too-easy charm. The practiced humility. The way they made themselves small and agreeable right up until the moment they took everything.

Adrian had that same shape. The disarming grin, the neighborly warmth, the offer to help with the lawn. All of it calculated, even if Adrian didn’t know it himself. Ethan had met a hundred young men just like him, hungry and patient, waiting for the right moment to strike. The only difference was that this one didn’t want insider information. He wanted something else. Something Ethan wasn’t willing to name.

He kept running, feet finding the familiar rhythm of the pavement, but his mind wouldn’t settle. He thought about Simone’s flushed cheeks when she said Adrian’s name. The way she’d dressed for dinner in a gown he’d never seen before. The lingering touch of fingers when she’d taken the wine bottle. None of it was proof. None of it was anything, really. She’d given him no reason to distrust her, and he’d always believed that trust was the foundation of a marriage. He’d never been the jealous type, had never needed to be. Simone had never given him cause.

But this feeling was different. Not jealousy, not exactly. It was a deep, animal unease that sat in his gut like a cold stone. The kind of instinct that had kept him alive in boardrooms full of predators, the silent alarm that went off when something was wrong even if he couldn’t yet see what.

Simone trusted him. He trusted her. He had to believe that was still true.

But he’d also learned long ago that the most dangerous players were the ones who never looked dangerous at all. And Adrian Parker, with his easy smile and his warm compliments and his eyes that lingered a moment too long on his wife, looked exactly like the kind of man Ethan had spent his whole career learning to keep at arm’s length.

The problem was, he didn’t know how to do that here. This wasn’t a boardroom. And the thing he was afraid of losing wasn’t a deal. It was his marriage.

To be continued…

Next chapter link below…

College taught Mark that lesson the way a fist learns bone, through repetition. He was nineteen when Jake first put it into words, sitting in the back of a crowded party while a line of cheerleaders shot them glances across the room. “Some girls are for keeping, brother. Most are for using. The sooner you figure out which is which, the happier you’ll be.”

Jake had a wolf’s grin even then, sharp cheekbones, dark eyes that missed nothing. He’d grown up with money and a father who collected women like business acquisitions, and he’d passed that cold education on to Mark like a family heirloom. By sophomore year they had a system. Away games meant hotel rooms. Hotel rooms meant the two of them running the local talent like a rotating buffet. Mark learned the particular pleasure of a girl dropping to her knees without being asked, the wet heat of her throat closing around him while Jake stood behind her, already unzipping. He learned the flat satisfaction of calling them worthless cunts, the way their eyes glazed over when you hit the right combination of filth and dominance. They thanked him for it. They always thanked him for it, drooling, mascara ruined, holes gaping, still whispering thank you, Sir like it was a prayer.

The power sat in his chest like a second heartbeat. Dominant. Cold. Absolute.

Then Chloe happened.

She wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to be another evening, another pretty face, another warm mouth. But she looked at him across the crowded bar with those blue eyes, and something in his chest shifted, something he hadn’t known was movable. He stepped off the shoot for that European fitness campaign, still shirtless, still sun-kissed, and she raised an eyebrow like she wasn’t impressed. Like he needed to earn her.

He did. He spent three months earning her. She was smart, sharp, funny in a way that made his chest hurt. She had her own wild phase behind her; she’d admitted that much one night, a little drunk, a little vulnerable, but she’d never let anyone close. She didn’t need him. That was the difference. Every other woman had needed something from him: access, status, money. Chloe just wanted him, and that terrified him more than any horror movie ever had.

She worked as a teacher for special needs children, and the first time he saw her in that element, it broke something open inside him. He’d shown up unannounced with lunch, wanting to surprise her, and stood in the doorway of her classroom watching her guide a nonverbal boy through a puzzle. She was on her knees beside his chair, patient, gentle, her voice low and steady. The boy’s hands trembled as he tried to fit the last piece, and Chloe didn’t rush him. She just waited, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, her eyes soft and full of something that looked like pure, unguarded love. When the piece clicked into place, the boy’s face lit up, and Chloe laughed, bright and real, and hugged him like he’d just won a gold medal.

Mark stood frozen in that doorway, takeout bag hanging from his fingers, and felt his entire chest rearrange itself around a single thought: This is the woman who will mother my children.

He saw it with a clarity that felt almost violent. Her kindness wasn’t a performance. Her patience wasn’t a mask. She poured herself into these kids not because she had to, but because she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. She saw their struggles and their beauty and refused to let either define them. And Mark, who had spent his whole life taking, who had learned to treat women like conquests and bodies like trophies, suddenly wanted nothing more than to give himself to her completely. To build something real. To be worthy of the way she looked at the world.

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Four years ago. Chloe’s birthday. The house hummed with warm bodies and clinking glasses, string lights casting everything in a soft amber glow. Sarah had lost count of her champagne flutes somewhere after the third toast. Her head floated, dim and pleasant, a dull warmth spreading through her soft freckled body while she drifted through the rooms pretending she wasn’t watching him.

She always watched him.

Mark moved through the crowd like he owned gravity itself. That easy smile, the way he rested his hand on Chloe’s lower back like it belonged there. Every time he leaned in to kiss her temple, every time his fingers brushed her hip, something sharp twisted beneath Sarah’s ribs. She’d felt it for years now, this dull ache, this hunger she had no right to. Watching him with Chloe was like pressing on a bruise just to feel it bloom.

The party thinned as the hours stretched past midnight. Guests drifted out in twos and threes, laughing, hugging, promising to text. Sarah stayed planted on the couch, empty glass in hand, watching. Chloe had been matching everyone drink for drink, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, her usually elegant posture slowly collapsing into sleepy softness. By the time only a handful of people remained, she was slumped against the cushions, eyes half-closed, murmuring something unintelligible.

Mark scooped her up like she weighed nothing. One arm under her knees, the other around her back. He carried her up the stairs with steady steps, disappearing through the master bedroom door. The soft click of it shutting echoed down into the quiet living room.

Sarah’s heart pounded hard against her ribs.

When Mark came back down, the last stragglers had already slipped out. The house stood silent save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant clatter of the dishwasher. Just Mark. Jake. And her.

Jake lounged against the kitchen island, arms crossed, that wolfish grin playing at his lips. He’d always made her uneasy, the way his dark eyes seemed to see through every layer she’d carefully constructed. He looked at her now like he already knew what she was about to do.

Sarah’s hands trembled. The champagne had burned away every scrap of her restraint. She stood up, the tight dress pulling across her soft belly and heavy tits, and the words came out before she could stop them.

“I’ve wanted you since the night we met.”

Mark’s eyebrows lifted. His smile smoothed into something more guarded.

Sarah’s voice cracked. “Both of you, if that’s what it takes. I’ve watched you with her for years. I know I’m not her. I know I’m fat and ordinary and not the kind of woman men like you stay for.” She stepped closer, hard nipples grazing her dress, belly almost brushing against Mark’s chest. “But I don’t care anymore. I’ve spent so many years pretending I didn’t want this. I can’t do it anymore. I’ll do whatever you want. Anything. I’ll be whatever you need.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. That familiar calculation flickered behind his eyes, the one she’d seen him use a hundred times with women who offered themselves up. This time it was her.

“Sarah” he started.

She cut him off. “You can do anything to me. Use me. Hurt me. Call me whatever you want. I’ll take it like a good slut. I won’t tell her. I’ll never tell her.” Her voice broke on the last words. “Just please. Please, Mark. Don’t make me beg anymore.”

Jake let out a low laugh, slow and predatory. “Jesus Christ. She’s serious.”

Mark stared at her for another long second. Chloe’s best friend. The loyal one. The fat little redhead who had hovered at the edges of their lives for years, always there, always watching. Standing before him with her heavy tits rising and falling under the tight dress, freckled face flushed with desperation and drink. Offering exactly the kind of raw, unchecked use he’d been craving.

Some girls are for keeping. Most are for using. Jake’s voice from a hundred college nights echoed in his head. Jake had been right then. He was right now.

Mark didn’t kiss her. He didn’t say anything soft. He just closed his hand around her upper arm and steered her toward the side gate that led to the detached garage he’d converted into a home gym. She stumbled, heels catching on the stone path. The garage lights flickered on, dim and harsh, casting long shadows across the rubber floor mats and weight benches.

Jake closed the gate behind them with a metallic click. The sound was final.

Mark pushed her down onto her knees. The rubber mat pressed against her soft shins, rough and sticky beneath her bare skin. Her heart hammered so hard she could feel it in her throat.

“On your knees. Tits out.”

Sarah reached for the neckline of her dress with shaking hands. She pulled it down, shoved her cheap bra underneath, and let her heavy freckled breasts spill free. They hung low and soft, nipples already peaked from the sharp night air. Mark and Jake both looked at her with the same flat assessment, not desire, not affection. Just evaluation. Like inspecting fresh meat.

“Look at this,” Jake murmured, already reaching for his belt. “Chloe’s soft little shadow. Offering herself up like a desperate pig.”

Sarah’s cunt throbbed. She hated how much those words affected her. How much she wanted to be seen this way, as something to be used. Her friends always laughed at her, the chubby one, the one who could never keep a man interested once her clothes came off. Derek had said it years ago, casual and cruel, a dismissive chuckle about her softness that had carved a permanent groove into her self-worth. But here, on her knees, being called a desperate pig? She felt seen. She felt wanted.

Mark unzipped. His cock sprang free, thick and already hard, curving toward her. Sarah’s breath caught. She’d pictured this so many times, alone in her apartment, three fingers buried inside her while she bit her pillow to keep from moaning his name. The reality was better. God, the reality was so much better.

He grabbed a fistful of her dull copper hair and guided the head to her lips.

“Open.”

She did. He pushed in deep, all at once, the thick length stretching her throat until her nose pressed against his stomach. She gagged hard, painful, violent, her eyes watering as spit ran from the corners of her stretched lips. Mark held her there, unmoving, letting her throat convulse around him.

“That’s it,” he said, voice flat, almost bored. “Take it like you said you would. Good little slut.”

He started using her face in short, controlled thrusts. Not rough, not yet. Just deliberate. Claiming. Jake stepped in beside him, his own cock already freed, thick and veiny and slapping against her cheek.

“Share, brother.”

Mark pulled out, a thick strand of spit connecting her swollen lips to his glistening cockhead. Jake shoved in immediately, not giving her a second to breathe. She choked again, gagging around his length, mascara already running in black streaks down her freckled cheeks.

They traded her mouth back and forth without ceremony. Mark’s cock stretching her throat, then Jake’s, then both of them pressing in close so she had to twist her head between them, lips wet and swollen and glistening. Sarah kept her hands on her own thighs, exactly as they’d told her. She took everything without complaint.

“You feel that?” Jake grunted, gripping her hair tight and fucking her face in earnest now. “Feel how deep you can take it when you’re not pretending to be shy?”

Mark laughed, low and dark. “She’s a natural. Been saving it up for years.”

When Mark finally pulled her off his cock, a thick rope of spit and precum connected her swollen lips to his shaft before snapping. Sarah gasped, chest heaving, heavy tits bouncing with every ragged breath. Jake laughed.

“She’s fucking soaked for it. Look at her, drooling like a bitch in heat.”

Mark grabbed her hips, spun her around, and bent her over the weight bench. The cold metal bit into her soft belly. He shoved her dress up over her thick ass, bunched it around her waist. No underwear.

Mark spat on her hole. The warm glob splattered against her pink flesh, and then his cock pushed in hard.

Sarah bit down on her own arm to keep from crying out. The stretch burned, she’d never taken anything that thick, that long. He filled her completely, splitting her open, and her cunt clenched desperately around him.

“Fuck,” Mark grunted, both hands gripping the soft roll of fat at her waist. “Loose as. You gotta get tighter for me, squeeze my cock, you fucking dumb slut.”

He started thrusting, deep and punishing, every stroke driving into her womb. Jake moved in front of her, his cock slapping against her lips, and she opened her mouth without being told. Her nose filled with the musky scent of his skin as he pushed in deep.

“Chloe’s best friend,” Mark muttered, rhythm picking up, slapping against her flesh. “Fat little traitor whore for cock. Look at this fat ass taking it. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

Sarah moaned around Jake’s cock. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form words, but she nodded, pushing back into every thrust, reaching one hand back to spread her ass wide just like they’d taught her without being told. Her soft belly dragged against the bench. Sweat slicked her thighs.

“She was,” Jake grunted, tightening his grip in her hair. “Look at her. Begging for it with her whole fucking body.”

Mark slapped her ass, hard, and the crack echoed off the gym walls. She cried out around Jake’s cock, pussy clenching tight at the pain. He did it again, and she moaned, knees buckling.

“You like that?” Mark’s voice was low and dark. “You like being spanked like the fat little pig you are?”

“Yes” she wailed, pulling off Jake’s cock just long enough to gasp.

“Call me Sir, you pathetic piece of shit.”

“Yes, Sir. Please. Please fuck me harder.”

Mark slammed into her for that. So deep she saw stars. Then he grabbed her hips and drove into her with brutal, punishing strokes, each one harder than the last, her entire body rocking with the force of it. The wooden bench creaked under her weight. Her heavy tits swung beneath her, slapping against her chest with every impact.

“Harder,” she sobbed. “Please, Mark, please”

He yanked her up by the hair, arching her back so her spine pressed against his chest. His other hand found her clit, two fingers pressing down in tight circles. “You want to come, you filthy whore?”

“Yes”

“Beg for it.”

“Please, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be your slut forever, just let me come, please”

He shoved her face back down toward Jake’s cock. “Then thank him for using that worthless throat.”

“Thank you,” she garbled, lips already stretched around his shaft. “Thank you, thank you for using me”

Jake fucked her throat in time with Mark’s strokes, each cock driving into a different soaking hole, and Sarah let go completely. The orgasm hit her like a freight train, sudden and violent, her whole body convulsing. She screamed around Jake’s cock, cunt clenching so hard she felt Mark shudder behind her.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “Look at that. She just soaked my balls.”

They switched once, Jake taking her from behind while Mark shoved his cock down her throat, relentless in their rhythm, then switched back. Sweat poured off all three of them. Sarah’s knees ached on the rubber mat. Her throat burned raw. Her pussy was sloppy wet, coated in her own slick and their combined spit.

When Mark came, he pulled out at the last second and painted thick white ropes across her freckled back and the soft roll of fat at her waist. The warm cum dripped down her skin, and she moaned, arching her back into it.

Jake followed a minute later, yanking out of her throat and finishing across her face and heavy tits. His cum landed in thick strands across her closed eyes, her parted lips, the freckled swell of her breasts.

Mark grabbed a fistful of her hair, twisting her head toward Jake with a dark, lazy grin. His other hand came up, thumb wiping a smear of spit and precum from her swollen bottom lip before he flicked it away.

“We can’t cum in this bitch,” he said, voice flat and casual, like he was discussing the weather. “Wouldn’t want her getting pregnant and risk having fat, ugly kids running around, would we?”

Jake laughed, low and mean, stepping closer with his cock still slick from her throat. “Fuck no. We’d have to drown the poor things.”

Mark yanked her head back further, making her gasp, her throat exposed and aching. “You hear that, you desperate little pig? You’re good for one thing and one thing only. And it sure as hell isn’t breeding.”

Sarah’s eyes watered, but she nodded, cunt throbbing with a sick, twisted ache of gratitude. She was nothing to them. Just meat. Just a hole to use. And God help her, that was exactly what she wanted.

Jake laughed and spat across her cheek for good measure. The warm wad slid down her freckled skin and joined the rest of their fluids.

“You make me sick, you know that?” He said it flatly, bored, like he was reading a weather report. But his hand stayed tangled in her hair for a moment longer, and when she looked up at him, her heart still pounding, she could have sworn she saw something flicker in his eyes.

Then it was gone. He released her and stepped back.

Both of them cleaned up like nothing had happened. Wet wipes from the gym bag. Water from their bottles. Jake joked about how much Chloe would love the surprise birthday party they’d just thrown her. Mark laughed.

Sarah stayed on the floor for a long time after they left. The garage smelled like sweat and sex. Her throat was raw, her whole body aching. Cum was drying on her soft skin and in her copper hair, forming a crust that would take two washes to get out. She felt filthy. Used. Degraded.

And more alive than she had felt in years.

She pushed herself up, legs shaking, and padded to the corner sink. The cold water hitting her flushed skin made her gasp. She scrubbed her face until the worst of it was manageable, fixed her dress, finger-combed her hair as best she could. Then she slipped back through the gate and into the quiet house, past the darkened living room, up the stairs to the guest bathroom where she’d stashed her makeup bag for the night.

She stood under the hot spray for a long time, letting it burn the filth away. Her cunt was sore, stretched, and every shift of the water against her thighs made her flinch. But when she finally stepped out into the steam and looked at herself in the mirror, her freckled face still flushed, her dull copper hair slicked back from her forehead, she saw something she hadn’t seen in years.

She didn’t hate what she saw.

That was how it started.

She went back the next week. And the week after. Mark would text a simple address or just “come over,” and she would cancel whatever she had planned- girls’ night, a movie, a mediocre date from an app and drive across town. Sometimes Jake joined. Sometimes it was only Mark.

In front of Chloe, Mark was the perfect husband. Warm, attentive, endlessly kind. He poured Sarah’s coffee at brunch with a smile that never slipped, asked about her week like he genuinely cared, pulled out her chair, laughed at her jokes. He treated her like a cherished part of their little circle, the loyal best friend who belonged at their table. Chloe beamed at him for it. Sarah smiled back and swallowed the guilt with her champagne.

But the second Chloe turned away, or left the room, or stepped outside to take a call, Mark’s eyes would find hers. Flat. Cold. Full of open contempt. As if the woman he’d just been so gracious to had never existed. The shift was so complete, so effortless, that the first few times it happened Sarah’s stomach dropped. It was like watching two different men occupy the same body. The loving husband who adored his wife and treated her friend with respect, and the alpha dominant who degraded her in private like she was nothing more than a hole to use and discard. His ability to compartmentalize was terrifying. And it made her head spin. It made her pussy wet every single time.

Jake was no different. The same easy charm when Chloe was watching, the same predatory flatness the moment she wasn’t. Mark and Jake were brothers from another mother, inseparable, finishing each other’s sentences, moving through the world as a single unit. Exactly the way Sarah and Chloe had always been the perfect best friends. Two pairs of matched souls, only one of those pairs was rotten at the core.

Sarah learned exactly what Mark liked. How hard he wanted her throat taken. How his rhythm changed when tears streamed down her cheeks. How his voice went soft and cruel when he called her a stupid fat whore and made her recite it back until she cried. She learned to thank him for every degrading word, every slap, every moment of being used.

She learned that the group existed, that Mark moved in circles she had never imagined, where men ruled absolute and women knelt to be used. She learned there were others like her, women who offered themselves for the chance to be wanted, even for an hour.

When Mark first asked if she wanted to go with him to a meeting of the Inner Circle, she said yes before the question finished leaving his mouth.

One rainy night when Chloe was away visiting her parents, Mark had her bent over the weight bench again, ass red from his palm, cum still dripping from her. “Clean yourself up, you disgusting cunt, before you go home. And remember, this stays between us. Chloe never hears about it. She never sees anything different in your face.”

“I won’t tell her.” The words came out hoarse. “I’ll never tell her.”

Mark nodded, satisfied. “Good. You’ve been a good little slut tonight. You earned yourself a reward.”

He didn’t say what the reward was. He didn’t look back. He just zipped up, grabbed his water bottle, and walked toward the house.

Sarah stayed on her knees, listening to his footsteps disappear. Her throat burned. Her ass ached. Cum dripped slowly down her inner thigh.

She had never felt so wanted in her entire life.

In the years that followed, Mark never once called her beautiful. Never once touched her with tenderness outside their dirty little games. He treated her exactly as she had begged to be treated, like a hole to be used and discarded, a disloyal fat cunt who would sell out her oldest friend for a hard cock and a few filthy words in the dark.

And through it all, Sarah kept smiling. Kept laughing at coffee dates and girls’ weekends. Kept holding Chloe’s hand at bottomless brunches. She swallowed her guilt with her champagne and made it look easy.

She told herself it was enough. That being wanted by him for an hour was better than not being wanted by anyone at all. She learned the precise angles of his body, the way his breath stuttered when he was close, how to position her soft body so he could slam into her deepest and hardest. She memorized every filthy word and carried them like treasures, comforting herself with his degradation when the guilt grew too loud.

Sarah had made her choice.

She just never knew how far the consequences would reach.

To be continued…

Next chapter link below…

They met on a late summer evening seven years ago and became the couple everyone noticed. Mark, a striking former fitness model, and Chloe, tall blonde and elegant, shared an intense chemistry from the start. He was completely devoted, coffee in bed, spontaneous trips, every small detail remembered. Their physical connection stayed electric.

Mark left modeling at the height of his career and built a protein company Clean Muscle from a kitchen-table idea into a multimillion-dollar brand. The money bought a luxury house and lavish holidays, but he never let it pull him away from her. It just became another way to spoil her.

Sarah, Chloe’s best friend since college and sister in everything but blood, stood by them through every milestone. She was there the night Mark first said “I love you,” helped choose the engagement ring in secret, and delivered the maid-of-honor toast that moved the room to tears. In the years that followed she remained a constant presence, takeout, laughter, ordinary joys, while Mark and Chloe’s marriage continued to feel perfect.

Sarah was a curvy plain Jane redhead: soft freckled skin, big breasts that strained against cheap bras, a thick ass and soft belly that jiggled when she walked, ordinary face framed by dull copper hair she never quite styled right. Not glamorous. Not special. Just the reliable, slightly dowdy friend who was always around.

The iPad sat at the bottom of the junk drawer like a forgotten ghost.

Chloe’s phone had died at the grocery store. By the time she got home she was already twitchy for a feed to scroll. She dug through three drawers looking for a backup charger before her fingers brushed the smooth aluminum case.

Mark’s old iPad from four years ago, screen slightly cracked in the corner. She’d forgotten it existed. Her phone was still dead, so she yanked it free, blew the dust off, and pressed the power button.

Still charged. Twenty-three percent. Still connected to wifi.

She sat cross-legged on the living room floor and thumbed through the home screen out of idle curiosity. Old photos. Banking apps. The WhatsApp icon sat in the bottom row, badge showing 1,847 unread messages.

That number made her pause.

She opened it.

The chat name was The Inner Circle.

Thirty-seven participants.

The first message she landed on was from “Mark_Alpha”—her husband—sent three days ago.

“Last session was fucking filthy. Marcus had that fat little brunette from his office choking on cock until she puked all over his balls and still begged for more. This month’s gathering is Saturday. Location: Hilton Penthouse suite. Bring your subs. No lames. No flakers. If your bitch can’t take a proper wrecking, leave the useless cunt at home.”

Chloe’s breath stopped.

She scrolled.

Photos loaded. The first one made her stomach lurch. A woman on her knees, face obscured by a thick cock shoved so deep her nose was pressed into the man’s pubes. Spit poured from the corners of her stretched lips. Caption: Breakfast of champions. Make her clean it up after.

She tapped a video without thinking.

The screen filled with their home office, the exposed brick wall, the reclaimed wood table, the room she walked through every morning. Mark sat in his leather chair, fully clothed. A woman knelt between his legs. Thick copper-red hair. Soft freckled shoulders. Heavy pale tits hanging free.

Sarah.

Her best friend. Her maid of honor. The woman who had held her hand at the altar.

Sarah’s face was a mess, mascara running in black rivers, lips stretched obscenely wide around Mark’s cock, throat bulging as he forced every inch deeper. She was gagging, choking, tears streaming, drool pouring onto her soft belly. Mark gripped both fists full of that dull red hair and used her face like a toy, slamming her down until her nose smashed into his stomach, holding her there while her throat convulsed.

He pulled her off with a loud wet pop. A thick rope of spit and precum connected her swollen lips to the head of his cock. Sarah gasped, chest heaving, heavy tits bouncing.

“You like that, you fat little traitor whore?”

It was Mark’s voice, the same warm, low timbre that whispered I love you against her ear every morning, flattened, stripped of every ounce of tenderness.

“You like sneaking over here and letting your best friend’s husband turn your throat into a fucking cumdump?”

Sarah’s voice was hoarse. “Yes, Sir… thank you, Sir… use my worthless throat…”

The video lasted four minutes. By the end Sarah was bent over the desk, soft belly pressed to the wood, thick ass spread wide, face smashed into a stack of invoices while he pounded her with brutal strokes. Every thrust made her heavy tits slap the desk. He called her every filthy name, cunt, pig, disloyal fucktoy, chubby little cumrag, and Sarah moaned like a bitch in heat, reaching back to pull her own ass cheeks wider, begging him to ruin her hole. When he came he yanked out and painted thick white ropes across her freckled back and the soft roll of fat at her waist, then grabbed a fistful of red hair, twisted her head toward the camera, and said, “Say hi to Chloe, you disgusting slut.”

Sarah looked straight into the lens, eyes glassy, face shiny with spit and tears, and whispered, “Hi, Chloe… your husband’s cock owns me.”

Mark yanked her head back, leaned in, and spat a thick wad of saliva straight across her face.

“You’re a disgusting pig. You make me wanna vomit,” he said flatly, still looking at the camera.

The video ended.

Chloe sat frozen. Her thumb moved on its own, scrolling into the chat that had exploded the moment Mark posted the clip.

Mark_Alpha: “Holy shit look at that greedy fat whore. She was choking and still trying to shove more cock down her throat. Disloyal bitch can’t get enough.”

Jake_Fit: “Lmao she looks like a melted candle with those big soft tits swinging. Begging for it the whole time. What a pathetic little cumdump.”

Tyler_Gym: “Chloe’s best friend? Fuck that’s cold. Look at her moaning like a pig while Mark wrecks her.”

Mark_Alpha: “She was practically drooling for it before he even pulled his dick out. Bet she goes home and smiles in Chloe’s face the next day like nothing happened.”

Jake_Fit: “Send her over next time. I want my thick thighs wrapped around her head with my cock down her throat, while she cries and thanks me for using her.”

The laughing emojis stacked up. They kept going, chubby traitor, freeloading slut, disloyal bitch who would sell out her oldest friend for a hard cock. They mocked the way her soft body shook, the way she begged, the way she looked into the camera and said Chloe’s name like it was nothing.

These were men she had met. Men who had shaken her hand at company parties. Men who had smiled at her across dinner tables. And they were laughing, openly, about turning her best friend into a joke.

She forced herself to keep scrolling.

More videos. More women. More filth.

A hotel suite. Mark stood naked while a woman buried her face in his ass, tongue deep in his hole. He had both hands fisted in her hair, grinding her face into his crack.

“That’s it, you filthy little shit-eater. Lick my fucking asshole clean, you worthless cunt.”

Jake, Mark’s best friend from college, shoved into her ass without warning. She screamed in desperate pleasure while she kept licking Mark’s ass like a starving dog.

Their bedroom. Three women on the bed with him. One rode his cock. Another sat on his face. The third shoved her tits into his mouth; he bit hard enough to leave purple marks.

“I like watching you dirty bitches fight over my dick. Keep bouncing on it like the cheap whores you are.”

Later he had one on all fours, spat onto her asshole, and slammed in balls-deep. She screamed his name. He laughed, the same laugh he used at dinner parties, now stripped of every bit of warmth, and slapped her ass hard enough to leave a red print.

“You’re nothing but a set of holes for real men to dump cum into.”

A dim basement. Four men in a circle. Four naked women on their knees. Mark walked around them like a king.

“Who owns you?”

“You do, Sir.”

“What are you?”

“Worthless holes.”

He grabbed the nearest by the hair, tilted her head back, and spat into her open mouth. She swallowed and thanked him. The smile on his face was the same one he gave Chloe on their wedding day. Now it looked wrong. Predatory. Empty.

Their bathroom. The claw-foot tub Chloe had chosen. Mark stood in the shower while a woman knelt and took his cock into her mouth. He started pissing. A heavy, steady stream. She choked, swallowed, and kept sucking while urine spilled from the corners of her lips and ran down her tits.

“Drink it, you dirty toilet. Every fucking drop.”

She did.

Mark was in nearly every video. Always dominant. Always cruel. Always wearing that cold, detached expression like he was running a meeting instead of turning women into broken toys. Same face. Same body. Same voice. Completely different monster underneath.

Then a message from three nights ago:

Mark_Alpha: “The wife still has no idea. She thinks I’m at a late meeting when I’m actually stuffing that blonde’s throat until she pukes. Chloe’s still completely clueless. Perfect little trophy on my arm while I get the real filth on the side.”

Someone: “Does she even know how to fuck or is she just a dead fish?”

Mark: “Nah. You’ve got it all wrong. Chloe’s my wife. I love her. I’d never treat her like these other bitches. They’re nothing, just holes to use, degrade, and toss aside. They thank us for the humiliation. They beg for it. But Chloe? She’s the one I come home to. The one I built this life with. She doesn’t need to be broken. She already is perfect.”

Another: “So she’s just the pretty face on your arm?”

Mark: “She’s more than that. She’s my queen. I’d sooner cut off my own cock than treat her like one of these dirty sluts. They’re disposable. They know it. They want to be used, called worthless, pissed on, filled in every hole, it’s what gets their cunt dripping. But Chloe is sacred. I love her too much to ever drag her into this filth. This is just release. Escapism. Nothing more.”

Chloe’s hand flew to her mouth. The room spun. She dropped the iPad and pressed her palms hard against her eyes. The images were burned into the backs of her lids, but worse than the filth was the contrast. The man who wrote those protective words about her was the same man who had forced her best friend to say hi to the camera with his cum dripping down her back while his friends called Sarah a greedy fat whore.

She didn’t know this man. The father of her future children, the one who held her hair back when she was sick, the one who whispered I love you every morning—that man existed only for her. Everything else was this other version.

And Sarah. Soft, freckled, ordinary Sarah, on her knees choking on Mark’s cock and calling him Sir while the man Chloe loved watched with dead, bored eyes.

For a long moment Chloe sat in the dark, breathing through her nose. Then she reached for the iPad again. Her hands were steadier now. Something cold and hard had settled in her chest.

She opened the chat’s media folder and started downloading everything. Every video. Every photo. Every degrading message. She created a folder, titled it Evidence, and backed it up to her personal cloud drive. Then she downloaded the entire chat history.

Photos of women she recognized. The receptionist at Mark’s gym. A yoga instructor from the studio three blocks away. Her Pilates teacher. Women she’d smiled at in passing, women she’d complimented on their leggings, women she’d introduced to her husband at social events.

Photos of herself.

A candid shot from their last dinner party, Chloe laughing, wine glass raised, completely unaware. Caption from Mark_Alpha: “Look at my beautiful wife. Queen of the castle. No clue I’m passing her friends around like party favors. She doesn’t suspect a fucking thing.”

Replies flooded beneath it.

“She’s so fucking clueless.”

“Mark’s got her trained better than any of the subs.”

“When are you going to bring her to a session? We all want a turn at that tight princess pussy.”

Mark’s reply was immediate and sharp: “Fuck off, you dogs. She’s mine. Only mine. Touch her and I’ll end you.”

Chloe’s hands were steady now. She screenshot everything. The video of Sarah. The photos. The messages. She backed it all up a second time.

The front door opened.

“Baby? You home?”

Mark’s voice. Warm. Affectionate. The voice of the man who had kissed her forehead that morning and told her she was beautiful.

She slid the iPad under the couch cushion, wiped her face, and stood. Her legs felt strange, but she made them walk. She made her mouth smile.

“In here, honey.”

Mark rounded the corner with a paper bag from their favorite Thai place, smile bright and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corners the way that had always melted her. He set the bag on the counter and crossed to her, pulling her into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

“Missed you today,” he murmured against her hair. “You smell incredible. You always smell incredible.”

She hugged him back. Her arms wrapped around his waist, her face pressed against his chest, nose filling with the familiar scent of his cologne and clean laundry. She felt his heartbeat against her cheek, steady, calm, content.

“Missed you too,” she said.

She didn’t mean it.

He was dead to her now.

Her love had died the moment she saw the first video. Even now, with the images burned into the backs of her eyelids, her best friend gagging and puking on his cock, that colder voice calling Sarah a fat traitor whore, his friends laughing and calling her a greedy fat whore begging for dick, her body still remembered his hands. Her lips still remembered his kisses. Her skin still remembered the way he touched her, worshipped her, made her feel like the center of his universe.

He pulled back, concern flickering across his perfect face. “You okay? You look pale.”

“Just tired,” she said. “Long day.”

He cupped her face in both hands, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, and looked at her with such tenderness it made her chest ache. This was the version she knew. Soft. Loving. Sweet. The complete opposite of the cold-eyed monster on the iPad.

“Let me take care of you tonight. Draw you a bath. Feed you. Fuck you to sleep.” A playful grin. “All three, if you’re lucky.”

She laughed. The sound came out naturally. “That sounds perfect.”

He kissed her then, soft and slow, his tongue sliding against hers with practiced intimacy, and she let him. She let him because she needed him to believe everything was fine. She let him because she needed time. She let him because the woman she had been, the trusting wife, the devoted partner, the fool, was already dead, and the woman taking her place needed to learn how to play a role.

The bathroom filled with steam. Mark drew the bath exactly the way she liked it, hot enough to turn her skin pink, with the lavender bath salts she favored. He undressed her slowly, reverently, his hands trailing over her curves like he was memorizing them, and she let him because she had to. He guided her into the water. She sank down, the heat seeping into her muscles, and closed her eyes.

He knelt beside the tub, reached for the washcloth, and began to soap her shoulders.

“I love you, Chloe,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“You’re everything to me. Everything.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. His face was open, earnest, absolutely convincing. If she hadn’t seen the video, she would have believed him. She had believed him. For seven years she had believed him. Now she could only see both versions at once, the sweet husband kneeling beside the tub, and the colder one who had forced her best friend to say hi to the camera with cum dripping down her back.

“I love you too,” she said.

It wasn’t a lie.

It was just no longer the whole truth.

He washed her body with the same attention he brought to everything—slow circles over her breasts, careful strokes down her stomach, his fingers dipping between her thighs just long enough to make her gasp before pulling away with a knowing smile. He knew her body better than she did. He had spent years learning every sensitive spot, every moan, every way to make her surrender.

Tonight, she let him have it.

He dried her off with the fluffiest towel, carried her to the bedroom, laid her out on the sheets like something precious. Then he undressed, and her breath caught the way it always did. Seven years, and his body still undid her. Broad shoulders, cut chest, the hard lines of his abs, the thick length of his cock already half-hard, curving against his thigh. He was beautiful, and she hated him for it, hated that the same body that treated her like something sacred had been used to destroy other women like they were nothing.

He crawled over her, kissed her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. “I want to taste you,” he murmured. “I want to eat this pussy until you fucking scream.”

Those words, in his mouth, had always undone her.

Tonight they made her stomach turn, because she had just heard that same mouth call another woman a toilet and order her to drink his piss.

But she spread her thighs anyway.

His mouth found her with familiar precision, tongue flat and firm against her clit, two fingers sliding inside her without resistance. She was wet. Her body betrayed her, always had, conditioned by years of his touch. He groaned against her like he’d won something.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet for me. You love my mouth on this cunt, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

It was true.

Her hips rolled against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction. His tongue circled her clit in that rhythm that never failed, his fingers curling inside her, stroking that spot that made her vision blur. She came with a sharp cry, her back arching, her thighs clamping around his head, and he kept licking through it, drawing it out, wringing every pulse of pleasure from her trembling body.

He crawled up her body, kissed her mouth so she could taste herself on his lips, and lined his cock up at her entrance.

“Look at me,” he said.

She did.

“I love fucking you,” he said, and pushed inside.

The stretch was familiar, perfect, the way he filled her completely, the way her body opened to take him. He fucked her slow and deep, his hips rolling in that languid rhythm that always drove her crazy, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath hot against her lips.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned. “This tight little cunt was made for my cock. You know that?”

“Yes.”

“Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You,” she said. “It belongs to you.”

He kissed her, deep and possessive, and fucked her harder, his pace building, his breathing ragged. She wrapped her legs around her waist, pulled him deeper, and let him take what he wanted. Her body responded the way it always did, the heat building, the pressure coiling, the inevitable pleasure rising to meet his thrusts.

She came again, clenching around him, and he followed a moment later, burying his face in her neck as he spilled inside her, groaning her name like a benediction.

Afterward, he held her.

He always held her.

His arms wrapped around her, his chest against her back, his softening cock still nestled between her thighs. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, whispered that he loved her, that she was his whole world, that he would never need anyone else.

She lay awake in the dark, his breath evening out into sleep, and stared at the wall.

The evidence folder existed. The screenshots waited. The lawyer’s number was a Google search away.

But tomorrow she would wake up and smile at him. She would let him make her coffee. She would kiss him goodbye when he left for work. She would play the perfect wife for as long as it took.

Six months, she decided. Maybe less, maybe more. However long it took to drain every dollar from his accounts, every asset from his name, every shred of dignity from his precious Inner Circle.

And Sarah.

Sarah would not get a clean exit. Chloe would make sure of that. The videos, the messages, the way she had looked into the camera and whispered Chloe’s name with cum still dripping down her back, none of it would stay buried. Chloe would wait until the moment it would hurt the most, then she would burn every bridge Sarah had left. Her reputation. Her friendships. Her ability to pretend she had ever been anything more than a disloyal, desperate hole who sold out the only person who had ever truly loved her for a few hours of being used.

Mark first. Then Sarah. Both of them reduced to nothing.

He stirred behind her, his arm tightening around her waist, his lips brushing her ear.

“I love you, Chloe,” he murmured, half-asleep.

She closed her eyes.

“I know,” she whispered.

And in the darkness, the woman who had once loved the man next to her, and the friend who had stood beside her at the altar, began to plan their destruction.

To be continued…

Next chapter link below…

Gorgeous. Loyal. Still as hot as the day they met.

But since Lara started her new job at the hedge fund, something changed. The late nights. The daring outfits. The way she glowed after every office “party.”

Friday early evening, Lara’s text arrived at 5:47 PM.

Hey babe, party at Paul’s tonight to celebrate the merger. It’s running late so I’ll be home whenever. Don’t wait up ❤️

Jeremy stared at his phone until the screen dimmed. The fluorescent lights of his cubicle hummed overhead. Someone in accounting laughed three rows away. The world kept turning, indifferent to the fact that his wife was planning to get fucked by strangers tonight and had the courtesy to give him a heads-up.

Five minutes later, the second text buzzed against his palm.

Jeremy, come by the penthouse if you’re free. Small celebration for the merger. Drinks, hot tub, the usual. — Paul

The usual.

Jeremy shut his eyes. Instantly he saw Lara bent over that kitchen counter three nights ago, cum leaking out of her cunt and asshole in thick white ropes. His cock twitched hard. His stomach flipped. Both feelings felt true now.

He typed before he could talk himself out of it.

Be there in an hour.

The penthouse door swung open before he even knocked.

Chloe stood there barefoot in a champagne-colored silk robe that barely covered her ass. Hair damp, cheeks flushed, looking like she’d already taken a load or two.

“Jeremy!” Her smile was real. “Fuck, I was hoping you’d show.”

“Paul texted.”

“Yeah. Paul always gets what he wants.” She stepped aside and hooked her arm through his. “Come on. I’ll walk you through the zoo.”

Bass thumped through the floor. Voices. Then the wet, unmistakable sound of someone getting fucked hard.

Jeremy stepped inside and stopped breathing.

Read more

The week that followed was a blur of silence and sideways glances. Lara went to work on Monday, wearing a demure blouse and pencil skirt that somehow looked like a costume after what I’d seen. We didn’t talk about the party. We moved around each other in the house like ghosts, the only sounds the clink of dishes and the distant hum of the television. The image of her, broken and dripping on Paul’s kitchen floor, played on a loop behind my eyes. And yet, every night, my traitorous body responded when she curled against me in sleep. The conflict was a cold stone in my gut.

Friday morning, she was especially quiet. She dressed with mechanical precision, a grey suit, conservative, her hair in a tight bun. She didn’t kiss me goodbye. Just a faint, “See you tonight,” before the door clicked shut.

My phone buzzed an hour later. A text from Lara.
‘Meeting in the main boardroom at 11. Paul says it’s important. For the Ascension merger.’

That was it. No ‘love you.’ No ‘wish me luck.’ Just a sterile, corporate update. The Ascension merger was the biggest deal her firm had ever pursued. I knew that much from her distracted chatter weeks ago. I stared at the message, a familiar dread slithering down my spine. Important. In their world, that word had a very specific, very nasty meaning. I decided I’d stop by and surprise her by taking her to lunch.

The elevator doors opened onto the fifty-third floor, and the silence hit me first.

Not actual silence; phones chirped behind cubicle walls, keyboard clicks stitched the air, someone laughed in a distant corner, but a held-breath quality to everything. The receptionist glanced up from her monitor. Blinked once. Her smile arrived a half-second late.

“Mr...?”

“Jeremy. Lara’s husband.”

“Ah.” The syllable carried weight I couldn’t decode. “She’s in the boardroom. Top floor. Let me” Her hand hovered over the phone. “Actually, Chloe can escort you up.”

Read more

Lara’s POV from the same evening.

The morning of the party, I woke before Jeremy and stared at the ceiling.

My stomach was already knotting itself into something tight and familiar. Not the good kind of tight, the kind that comes from knowing you’re about to disappoint someone you love, and doing it anyway. Jeremy’s arm was draped across my hip, his breathing slow and even. He looked peaceful. Trusting.

Beep beep beep.

His phone. No, my phone. The email reminder about the Christmas party.

I slipped out of bed and into the bathroom, took my time with my hair, with my makeup, trying to disappear into the routine. When he shouted through the door that the invite said “plus one,” I felt my fingers freeze mid-zip.

No.

I couldn’t bring him there. Not into that room with those men who knew exactly how I sounded when I came, who had seen me on my knees under Paul’s desk, who had passed me around like a bottle of good scotch at every celebration for the past year.

But I couldn’t say no without making him suspicious. So I made excuses. Finance talk. Boring. You won’t have fun.

Then I saw his face. That open, hopeful expression he’s worn since the day we met in college. He just wanted to be with me. To dance with me. To have a normal night with his wife.

I almost told him everything right then. The words crowded behind my teeth, I’ve been sleeping with my coworkers, I’ve done things you can’t imagine, I’ve let them use me in ways I’ve never let you, but instead I heard myself saying, “Okay, honey. If you really want to come then of course.”

The guilt was a stone in my throat. I swallowed it.

The office was transformed. Blue and purple lights. A Christmas tree in the center of the dance floor. Glass tables. It looked like a nightclub, which was fitting, because that’s exactly what these parties were.

Chloe found us before I could even get my bearings. She hugged me tight, then spotted Jeremy, and I watched her bright smile freeze into something plastic.

“Nice to meet you, Jeremy,” she said, and then her eyes snapped to mine. “You are crazy you know that?”

She wasn’t joking.

While Jeremy went to get drinks, Chloe dragged me toward the crowd, her manicured nails digging into my arm. “What the fuck are you thinking?” she hissed, her lips brushing my ear. “You brought your husband? Here? Do you remember what happened at the last party? Because I do. I remember you getting spit-roasted on the conference table while Paul took pictures.”

“I couldn’t say no,” I whispered back. “He saw the invite. He wanted to come.”

“He’s going to see everything.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Chloe gave me a look that said you’re an idiot, but before she could say more, I felt a familiar hand settle on my lower back. Warm. Confident. Paul.

“Lara,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying that easy authority that always made my knees weak. “You look stunning tonight. And I see you brought company.” He nodded toward Jeremy, who was still making his way toward the bar. “Jeremy, right?”

I nodded, my heart hammering. “Yes. My husband.”

“Right.” Paul’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes flickered with something- amusement, maybe. Or anticipation. “Why don’t you send him to grab us some drinks? The bar at the far end is less crowded. We can catch up properly while he’s gone.”

Chloe’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

I swallowed, but my mouth was already working. “Jeremy!” I called out, waving him over. He turned, drinkless, and walked back. “Sweetie, could you get me another glass of wine? And Paul here wants one too. The bar at the far end is better, less wait.”

He smiled, oblivious. “Sure thing, babe.”

I watched him walk away, his frame disappearing into the crowd. Paul’s hand slid just a little lower, grazing the curve of my ass through my dress. His breath was warm against my ear.

“Now then,” he murmured. “Let’s talk about how we’re going to get you alone tonight.”

He came up behind me without warning; he always did, and his hands slid around my waist, then up, cupping my breasts through my dress. His thumbs found my nipples, already hard from the cold air and the anxiety. I felt his erection pressing against my ass through his trousers.

“Luke,” I said, pushing his hands away. I turned my head so my lips were near his ear. “Stop. My husband is here.”

I watched his expression shift. Not shame. Not embarrassment. Interest.

He scanned the crowd over my shoulder, his hands still resting on my hips. “Which one?”

“The one I’m married to. The one who will notice if you keep groping me in the middle of the party.”

Luke’s grin was lazy and cruel. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Luke. I’m serious.”

“Fine, fine.” He dropped his hands, but I could feel his eyes still on me. “But you owe me later.”

Paul assessed the situation in a glance- Luke’s smirk, my flushed face, Chloe’s tense posture- and made a decision.

“Boardroom,” he said quietly. “Now.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He just turned and walked, and we followed, because that’s what you did with Paul. You followed.

I glanced back once. Jeremy had the drinks; I could see two glasses in his hands, his head tilted as he scanned the crowd for me. He was about to make his way over when a lanky man in an ill-fitting tuxedo lurched into his path, clapping him on the shoulder with the wet enthusiasm of someone five drinks past sensible. Jeremy’s smile flickered, trapped, as the drunk launched into what looked like a rambling story about stock tips or sports teams. Paul’s hand settled on the small of my back, warm and insistent, and I let myself be guided away into the shadows.

The boardroom was dark except for the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Paul locked the door behind us.

“Your husband,” he said, pouring four glasses of tequila from the bar cart in the corner. “Does he know?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.” He handed me a glass. “Then let’s make this quick. You’ve got about forty-five minutes before he starts wondering where you disappeared to.”

Chloe was already unbuttoning her dress. “I can’t believe you brought him.”

“Can we not talk about it?”

“We don’t have to talk at all,” Luke said, stepping behind me again. His hands found my zipper this time, pulling it down slowly. My dress pooled at my feet. “We just need those pretty mouths.”

The tequila burned going down. Paul refilled my glass immediately.

“On your knees,” he said. “Both of you.”

Chloe and I exchanged a glance. This was familiar territory. Comfortable, almost. I knew what they wanted. I knew how to give it to them.

We knelt.

Paul unbuckled his belt while Luke did the same. The leather hissed through the loops. The sound of zippers followed, and then they were both out, Paul long and thick, Luke slightly thicker but shorter, both of them already hard.

“Look at you,” Paul said, his voice low and clinical. “On your knees before you’ve even finished your drink. You’d think a married woman would have more dignity.”

“I don’t have any dignity left,” I said, and it was supposed to be a joke, but it came out true.

“Good girl.” He stroked my hair back from my face. “Open.”

I opened.

Paul’s cock slid past my lips, and I closed my eyes, letting the familiar rhythm take over. Beside me, Chloe was already working on Luke, her head bobbing with practiced efficiency.

“Your Executive Assistant,” Luke said, grunting slightly, “has the best mouth in the entire office. You know that, Paul?”

“I’m aware.” Paul’s hips moved faster, pushing deeper. “But she’s not on the clock right now. She’s just a hole. Isn’t that right, Lara?”

I couldn’t answer with my mouth full. I just looked up at him, my eyes watering slightly.

“Look at those eyes,” Paul said. “Begging for it. You love this, don’t you? You love being on your knees for men who aren’t your husband.”

I made a sound that might have been agreement.

“He’s out there right now,” Luke added, “drinking his little beer, thinking his wife is just mingling with coworkers. If he only knew what his wife is really good at.”

Chloe pulled off Luke long enough to say, “Tell her what you’re going to do to her later.”

“Later?” Luke grabbed my chin and tilted my face up toward him. “Later I’m going to fuck that tight ass of yours while you watch your husband through the window. How’s that sound?”

I moaned around Paul’s cock.

“She likes that idea,” Paul observed. “I think she likes it a lot.”

He pulled out suddenly, and I gasped for air, a strand of saliva connecting my bottom lip to his tip. He wiped it away with his thumb, then pushed it back into my mouth.

“Keep going. We’re not done.”

I kept going.

---

The clock on the wall said fifty-five minutes had passed when I finally stumbled out of the boardroom.

“Shit,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Shit, shit, shit. Jeremy’s going to be suspicious.”

“Tell him you were doing shots,” Chloe said, adjusting her dress. “Which, technically, you were.”

“Not funny.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

We found Jeremy on a couch near the dance floor, looking lost and a little worried. I kissed him. He asked why I tasted salty. I lied. Chloe lied. The lies were flimsy, but he accepted them, because he wanted to believe me.

That was the worst part. He always wanted to believe me.

The limos were waiting outside after the party. Luke grabbed my wrist before I could follow Jeremy to our car.

“Nope,” he said. “You’re riding with us.”

“Lara?” Jeremy’s voice was confused.

“Just follow us, bro,” Luke called over his shoulder. “She’ll see you when we get there.”

Paul’s hand was on my lower back, guiding me into the limo. I didn’t look back at Jeremy. I couldn’t.

The door slammed shut. The car started moving.

“There she is,” Luke said, pulling me onto his lap. “There’s the office slut.”

Chloe was already in the corner, watching with a glass of champagne. “Are we doing this?”

“We’re doing this,” Paul confirmed.

Luke’s hands were everywhere. My dress came off first, then my bra. He bent me forward over the seat so my ass was in the air, and his palm cracked against it.

“Look out the window,” he said.

I turned my head. Jeremy’s car was right behind us, his headlights cutting through the dark.

“Your husband,” Luke said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Your stupid, clueless husband. He has no idea what’s about to happen, does he?”

I shook my head.

“Say it.”

“He has no idea.”

Luke’s cock pressed against my ass, and I felt the tip of him, slick with lube from somewhere when he had gotten lube? Pushing against my tightest hole.

“He’s following us,” Luke continued, pushing in slowly, “and he’s probably thinking you’re just chatting with Chloe. Maybe listening to music. Maybe he’s even happy for you. Happy that you have such good friends.”

The stretch was intense. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

“And meanwhile,” Luke said, now fully seated inside me, “his wife is getting her ass fucked by a man who isn’t him.”

He started moving, and I watched Jeremy’s car through the tinted window. It was so close. He could probably see the limo. Maybe he could even see it rocking.

“Look at him,” Paul said, moving to sit beside me. He grabbed my chin and forced my face toward the window. “Look at your clueless cuck husband while Luke fucks your ass.”

“She’s so tight,” Luke grunted. “You teach her this, Paul?”

“She came to us already talented. I just refined her.”

Chloe giggled from the corner. “She’s a natural.”

“She’s a whore,” Paul corrected. “Say it, Lara.”

“I’m a whore.”

“Louder.”

“I’m a whore!”

The words filled the limo. Luke fucked me harder, his hips slapping against my ass. The pain and pleasure blurred together into something electric.

“My turn,” Paul said.

They switched positions, Paul in my ass now, Luke in front of me, pushing my head down toward his cock. I opened my mouth without being told.

“Good girl,” Luke said. “Take it all.”

Chloe had moved closer. Her hand was between my legs, fingers sliding through my wetness while Paul pounded into me from behind.

“She’s soaked,” Chloe announced. “She loves this.”

“Of course she does,” Paul said. “She’s been doing this for a year. She’s not just a whore. She’s a professional whore.”

The degradation was a drug. I hated it. I craved it. I couldn’t get enough.

“Your husband,” Luke said again, “is driving behind us right now. He’s probably singing along to the radio. Such a nice, normal guy. And his wife is in here with two cocks in her.”

“He’s not even suspicious,” Chloe added. “He’s probably thinking about how much he loves you.”

I moaned around Luke’s cock.

“She likes that,” Paul observed. “She likes thinking about her husband loving her while she’s being used.”

He was right. God help me, he was right.

The limo hit a bump, and Luke’s cock hit the back of my throat. I gagged, but he held my head in place.

“Take it,” he said. “Take it all, you married slut.”

I took it.

---

The garage was cold when we finally pulled in. My dress was somewhere in the limo. My body was covered in sweat and other fluids.

“Bikinis,” Chloe said, tossing me my white one. “Hurry.”

I pulled it on with shaking hands. The strings were difficult to tie. My fingers wouldn’t cooperate.

“Here.” Paul did the ties for me, his fingers brushing my skin. “Presentable. Mostly.”

“Maybe not mostly,” Chloe said, eyeing me. “You look freshly fucked.”

“I am freshly fucked.”

“Just blame it on the Limo. Tell him the aircon wasn’t working.”

Jeremy was waiting by the elevator. He looked confused. A little hurt that I’d ridden in the limo without him. I made more excuses. He asked about Paul spanking me. I made more excuses. He asked about getting naked in the limo. I deflected.

The lies were getting easier. That should have scared me more than it did.

---

The penthouse was chaos. Beautiful, drunken chaos.

Paul’s place was always the same: floor-to-ceiling windows, a hot tub on the balcony, expensive furniture that had seen things no furniture should ever see. The moment we walked in, Paul pointed me toward the hot tub.

“Mike and Shawn are looking for you,” he said. “They’re over there.”

I didn’t hesitate. I climbed into the hot tub, and Shawn’s hands were on my waist immediately.

“Where have you been?” he asked, pulling me onto his lap.

“Working.”

“Working on what?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Mike was on the other side of the tub, watching. “We heard you brought your husband.”

“Word travels fast.”

“Is he here? At the party?”

“Inside. Getting a drink.”

Shawn’s hands slid up my ribs. “So he’s just... hanging out? While you’re in here with us?”

“Something like that.”

The jets churned the water around us. I could feel Shawn’s erection pressing against me through his swim trunks, or what I thought were swim trunks. When I reached down, I found bare skin.

“Shawn.”

“What?”

“Where are your trunks?”

“I took them off.”

I should have stopped. I should have gotten out of the tub, walked back inside, and been a good wife for the rest of the night. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. The need was too strong, the need to be wanted, to be used, to be the center of attention.

I started moving against him. Grinding. The water splashed around us.

“Fuck,” Shawn breathed. “You’re going to make me—”

“Inside,” I said. “I’m not on birth control. We’re trying.”

“Trying to what?”

“Have a baby.”

Mike laughed. “You’re trying to have a baby with your husband, but you’re letting Shawn fuck you raw in a hot tub?”

“I’m not a good person.”

“We know,” Shawn said, and then he was inside me.

The water made everything slick and strange. His hands gripped my hips, guiding my movements. Mike watched, his hand moving under the water.

“Untie my top,” I told him.

He did. The white fabric floated away, and my breasts were bare in the open air. Anyone could see. Anyone could walk out onto the balcony.

Anyone could be my husband.

Mike’s mouth found my nipple, and I rode Shawn harder, chasing the feeling, chasing the release. When Shawn came, I felt it, hot and thick, filling me. I collapsed against his shoulder, trembling.

Then I moved to Mike. Fair was fair. He wanted what Shawn had gotten. I gave it to him.

When I finally climbed out of the hot tub, my legs were shaking. I found my bikini top floating in the corner.

Inside, Chloe was topless. Most of the women were. This was normal. This was the culture.

“Lara!” Chloe shouted. “Let the girls out!”

I looked at Jeremy. He was standing there, looking lost and overwhelmed. He nodded when I asked permission. He always nodded.

The strings came loose. My breasts were bare. Everyone could see.

Chloe pulled my bottoms off next. “These too!”

I was naked. Completely naked in a room full of people, and my husband was watching.

Luke appeared behind me. His hand slid between my legs, fingers finding my still-wet pussy. His lips brushed my ear.

“You’re dripping,” he whispered. “Is that Shawn’s cum? Or Mike’s?”

“Both.”

“Filthy whore. Does your husband know you’re walking around with two loads inside you?”

“No.”

“You’re going to suck my cock later. You know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“Say please.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me suck your cock.”

“Good girl.”

And then Chloe collapsed.

I watched her body hit the floor, and for a moment, everything stopped. The party. The noise. My heart.

“Chloe!” I dropped to my knees beside her. “Jeremy, can you help me bring her upstairs?”

He carried her. My sweet, reliable husband carried a drunk, topless girl up the stairs while I watched him go.

Luke’s hand was on my shoulder. “He’s going to be busy for a minute.”

“Luke”

“On your knees. Now.”

I couldn’t say no. I never could.

We went to the kitchen. I knelt behind the island counter, hidden from view, and pulled his swim trunks down. His cock was already hard; he’d been hard since the limo, probably.

“That’s it,” he said, his hand in my hair. “Take it all.”

I took him into my mouth. The taste was familiar. The rhythm was automatic. I closed my eyes and let myself disappear into the act.

Time passed. I didn’t know how much. Twenty minutes, maybe. Maybe more.

Then I heard footsteps.

“Hey Luke, have you seen my wife?”

Jeremy’s voice.

I froze. Luke’s hand tightened in my hair.

“Ya bro, she’s right here.”

I stood up slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Jeremy’s face was something I’ll never forget: the confusion, the hurt, the slow dawning horror.

“You were just sucking his dick, weren’t you?”

I nodded. What else could I do? The evidence was on my chin, on my lips, in the guilty flush of my cheeks.

Luke pushed me down onto the counter. My back arched. My ass was in the air.

“Don’t worry about it, bro,” Luke said, positioning himself behind me. “She’s just having fun.”

He pushed into me, my pussy this time, still slick from the hot tub, from Shawn and Mike, from everything. I couldn’t look at Jeremy. I couldn’t look away.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped, “I didn’t want you to see me like this...”

Luke fucked me harder. My words came out in fragments, broken by each thrust.

“Fuck me,” I heard myself say. “Fuck my ass.”

Jeremy shouted something. About how I never let him. I told him he could have it too. I’d give him anything. Everything.

Luke was in my ass now, and I was making sounds I didn’t recognize. Then Paul was there, naked, and they were both inside me at once, Paul in my pussy, Luke in my ass, and I was being filled from both ends, stretched beyond what should have been possible.

I screamed. I came. I felt them both finish inside me, one after the other, and I lay there on the counter, cum dripping out of me, unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything except ask my husband to take me home.

He did. He helped me dress. He held my hand in the elevator. He didn’t speak.

That night, I rode him in our bed. I told him I loved him. I meant it.

But I knew I wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. The validation was too strong. The need was too deep.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, I was already thinking about the next party.

To be continued…

Next chapter link below…

(This story and chapter were written by one of the filthiest, horniest writers on Reddit, erotica_girl. It was written as a one-off, but I’ve decided to continue the story and explore the characters; therefore, I have changed the character names. I will continue the story, further changing my writing style to better match erotica_girl storytelling voice for this series enjoy.)

My wife, Lara, started working as a secretary for a hedge fund company about a year ago. She seemed to love this job so much because she was always glowing whenever she talked about it. Her last job was hell for her. She would often come home crying because her boss was such an asshole, so I was happy that she found something better at first. When I found out why she liked it so much, however... well... you will see.

My wife is a gorgeous woman and always has been. We met in college, and it was love at first sight. Seven years later, I still love her as much as the first day I met her.

She left for work before me, so I would usually still be in bed while she was getting ready.

*Beep beep beep*

“Honey, your phone is going off. Looks like you got an email,” I said to her.

“Ah shit, okay,” she said as she popped out from the bathroom wearing just a thong and some thigh-high stockings.

I couldn’t help but admire her. I loved her long straight black hair, but I wished it wasn’t in the way so I could admire her perfect breasts. They were a perky handful of wonderful with the cutest pink nipples that just screamed, “bite me!”

Sure, I got to see her naked all the time, but it never got boring. My wife looked just as hot as she did in college. This is both a joy and a curse, because guys are constantly chasing after her.

I can’t really blame them, though.

“Could you check it for me please? I’m so late,” she said as she hurried back into the bathroom.

I grabbed her phone and opened the message. It was an invite to a Christmas party at her office on the weekend. It also said she was allowed a plus one. Her office had a lot of parties, but it was always just for staff, or so she said. Basically, anytime they closed a deal, it would be cause for celebration.

Lara would always attend them and usually wouldn’t get home until early in the morning or sometimes even late the next day. I never complained though. I would rather she didn’t drink and drive, and I never had a reason not to trust her.

I was curious what these parties were like though. When Lara describes them to me, they always sound so extravagant.

“It’s just a reminder about your office Christmas party this weekend!” I shouted to her.

“Oh, I completely forgot about that, thanks honey,” she said.

“So are you going to invite me?” I said playfully.

“Oh sweetie, you know these parties are always staff only.”

“It says you are allowed a plus one here,” I said, wondering if she was really unaware or just didn’t want me to come.

She peeked her head around the door of the bathroom.

“Oh really? That’s weird, I didn’t know. You don’t want to come, though; trust me, It’s going to be boring. Just a bunch of people talking about finance,” she said with a dismissive tone.

Well, that was not the response I expected. Why didn’t she want me to come?

She always talks about how great the parties are, so it doesn’t make sense that she's now saying they are boring. It’s not like she was really into finance either.

“I don’t care, I still want to come and have fun with you,” I said playfully.

She exited the bathroom and began putting on her tight black skirt.

“I really don’t think you are going to have any fun there, Jeremy,” she said in a slightly nervous tone while she slipped on a white halter top.

Her bare nipples were just slightly poking through the fabric. I tried to stay serious about the topic, but I couldn’t help but get hard as I ogled her.

She has been dressing more and more daringly since she started this job. I just thought it was her confidence improving, but now I was beginning to wonder.

“As long as I’m with you, I’m going to have fun! I promise,” I said, trying to sound encouraging.

She was finally ready for work and just stopped and looked at me. It felt like forever before she actually spoke.

“Well... Ok, but you need to promise me you won’t act weird, ok?” She said in a stern voice.

“Why would I act weird”?

“Some of the guys can be very flirty with the women in the office. Like, it’s not offensive or anything. More just playful, but it’s just how it is at our office. So you need to promise me you won’t get jealous if someone jokingly starts hitting on me, ok?”

I was stunned for a minute...

Flirting?? Isn’t that sexual harassment?

Now I was more curious than ever about what happens at these parties.

I tried to take the high road and not seem jealous. If I start getting jealous, then she really wouldn’t want me to come.

“Babe, I trust you, I love you, and I know you love me. I know you would never do anything to hurt me,” I said, trying not to show how confused I really was. “Besides, you are hot as hell. Who wouldn’t want to hit on you? If anything, I’ll feel proud that I’m the one that gets to take you home.”

She paused for a second with a slightly guilty look.

“Okay, honey. If you really want to come then of course. I do love you more than anything, and perhaps this could be fun,” Lara said before giving me a kiss. “Okay, I really have to go now. Go get your tux dry cleaned.”

She ran out the door and drove off to work.

My mind was racing now. I was so confused and worried. I tried to convince myself that nothing was going on, but I started overthinking things. Like somehow she never put her panties in the laundry hamper, or how she always had to shower the second she got home...

I mean, that could mean something, right?

I snapped myself out of it and went to work. There was no point stressing about something that might not be anything at all.

(That weekend)

Saturday came, and Lara was getting ready. It was usually a four-hour process... I put on my tux, and peeked into the bathroom. She was wearing just a very sexy white bra and panties with little black bows in the middle.

I approached her from behind and wrapped my arms around her, before gently kissing her shoulder. “You look amazing, Lara.”

Lara giggled.

“Oh, hey sweetie, you should pack a bathing suit and something more casual. We will probably end up at my boss’ penthouse after, and he has a hot tub,” she said.

“Will do!” I said as I went to look for my trunks.

Does she always end up there after these parties? I need to stop overthinking.

I was all ready and packed up. Lara was finally ready, wearing a very revealing black short dress. If she bent over, you would be able to clearly see everything underneath.

“You are not bringing another outfit as well?” I asked.

“No, I usually just hang out in my bikini. Everyone I work with is super casual, so it’s not a big deal,” Lara said very casually.

“Okay, where is your bikini?” I asked, now even more curious about these parties. My mind was racing, thinking of her just hanging out with a bunch of horny men wearing nothing but a bikini.

“Oh, I have it in my purse.”

We got into the car and drove to the party, just chit-chatting on the way. They had valet parking outside the office building where she works. The elevator door opened to her office, and it was amazing. We walked out into a massive lobby illuminated with blue and purple lights. It was surrounded by cubicles and offices. Most of the offices had frosted glass, but there were a few that were clear and showed off the amazing view of the city

A very sexy brunette instantly ran up to us and hugged Lara.

“Where have you been, girl? Everyone has been waiting for you!” she said “And who is this handsome guy?”

“This is my husband, Jeremy,” Lara said. “Jeremy, this is Chloe. She is one of the other assistants here.”

Chloe was a stunner. She looked like she was about eighteen with an amazing body. I tried not to stare, but her perfect breasts were pulling me in. It was like a tractor beam had me, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get away.

“Nice to meet you, Jeremy,” Chloe said as she reached out to shake my hand. She immediately looked back at Lara. “You are crazy, you know that?” she said, chuckling.

Crazy? Why was bringing me to a party crazy? Did I miss something?

“Why is she crazy?” I asked jokingly.

“Oh, don’t mind her, sweetie. She is just being silly,” Lara said while striking a sharp glare at Chloe.

Chloe winked back at her.

Okay, so clearly I was missing something here.

“Hey, why don’t you get your wife a drink while I take her to say hi to everyone?” Chloe asked as she grabbed Lara’s arm and dragged her off without even waiting for a response from me.

I scanned the room looking for the bar. The office had a purple ice theme, with glass tables and chairs surrounding a dance floor, and a large Christmas tree in the centre. It looked more like a nightclub than it did an office Christmas party.

I found the bar and ordered a beer, and got my wife a glass of wine. I began to scan the room looking for her, but was struggling to find her. The room was packed with people in black tuxedos and dresses. Kind of reminded me of a Where’s Waldo book.

Finally, I spotted Lara and Chloe talking with a guy in the crowd. Tall, well-built, and very clean-cut. He reminded me of Harvey Spectre from the TV series Suits.

They were all laughing and talking when suddenly another man came up behind my wife and wrapped his arms around her. Her ass was pressed into his crotch, and his hands went straight for her breasts. My heart was racing while I watched this guy grope my wife right in front of me.

Lara quickly pushed his hands away and said something into his ear. I wish I knew what she said because he immediately began scanning the room.

I was just about to head over to them when some guy that clearly had way too many drinks asked me if I could get him another beer. The bartenders had already cut him off, and for good reason. I said no, but he kept insisting, so I gave in and just got him another beer.

I was just about to head to Lara, but she was not there anymore. I worked my way through the crowd trying to find her, but no luck. After about fifteen minutes of wandering around looking, I just decided to sit on the nearby vacant couch.

Another hour passed until my wife and Chloe finally found me. To be fair, I was right in the open, so it wasn’t a difficult search.

“There you are, sweetie,” Lara said with a worried tone. “We have been looking for you everywhere.”

“I uh..” I was about to explain to her my search efforts when Chloe quickly interrupted me.

“You guys look so cute right now! I’m gonna take a picture of you two!” she said energetically. “Come on and give him a kiss for the picture.”

Lara obliged and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

“What the fuck was that?” Chloe shouted as she dropped her arms to her lap in that “WTF” kind of way. “Give him a real kiss! Gawd!”

“Chloe!” Lara shouted with a glare.

“Don’t be such a pussy! I know you are not shy,” Chloe shouted.

Lara glanced at me as if trying to decide if she should or not. She then wrapped her arms behind my neck and gave me a deep, passionate kiss as Chloe took the picture.

Lara tasted...different...It was like whiskey and something else.

“What did you drink, Lara?” I asked. “You taste salty.”

“Oh, we just did some... shots...” Chloe said in a very suspicious tone.

Lara shot another glare at Chloe.

“Ya we had some tequila. We had the salt but no lemon unfortunately,” Lara said, sounding very unsure.

Weird, but I guess I had to take her word for it. The party continued, and we sat on the couch and chatted, and drank with a couple quick dances in between. It was clear that Lara had a good buzz going on.

“Hey guys! Party time back at Paul’s place. You in?” Said a man’s voice behind me.

Lara and I turned around to see the first guy I saw Chloe and Lara talking to. Another man approached, also tall, handsome, and athletic. It was like everyone that worked here came out of a fitness magazine or something.

“Ya, I got limos waiting out front. You two ready to go?” Said the other man.

“Ya for sure!” chirped Lara. “Oh, and hey, this is my husband Jeremy. Jeremy, this is Paul and Luke. They are the senior partners here.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said, and I shook their hands.

“Nice to meet you as well,” said Paul.

“Ya bro, you have one smoking hot wife,” said Luke in that stereotypical “basic bro” kind of tone.

“Okay, ya, let’s go,” said Chloe as she grabbed Lara’s hand. “Our limo awaits!”

“Oh Lara, we got the car, remember?”

“That’s no problem. You can just follow us to my place,” said Paul.

Paul seemed like a very professional type of guy. He was well-spoken and radiated confidence. Luke, however, seemed like the opposite. He reminded me of a dumb jock from high school that never grew up.

We all headed downstairs where the limos were all lined up. I gave the valet my ticket, and he pulled around our car. Paul and Luke were rounding everyone up, and I went to Lara to see if she was ready to go, but she was being pulled off into the limo by Luke.

“Lara, aren’t you coming with me?” I asked, slightly confused.

“Oh sweetie, I’m going to ride in the limo with Chloe. Just follow us, and I’ll see you when we get there,” Lara said before a pair of hands reached out from the limo and pulled her in.

I got in my car and started following them. This night is certainly not turning out as expected.

Why did my wife really taste salty? She certainly wasn’t drinking tequila, and where did she disappear to?

I had so many questions, and my head was racing. I wanted to know what was going on in that limo. It seemed to be rocking every time we stopped at a light.

I needed to stop thinking, or I was going to drive myself crazy. I promised Lara I wouldn’t get jealous, and I should trust her.

I followed the limos down into a parking garage of a high-rise condominium. In the garage, we pulled into a private area with an elevator and a doorman waiting. I parked up behind them and got out of my car.

Chloe was the first to emerge from the limo, but she wasn’t wearing her dress anymore. She was wearing a pink bikini.

Maybe she just had it on under her dress.

She pranced off to the elevator with Luke in hand, following behind her. Lara was the next one out, and to my surprise, she also had her white bikini on.

When did she change? Did she change in the limo?

Paul got out behind her and playfully smacked her ass, and they headed for the elevator.

“Lara, wait for me!” I shouted.

Lara turned around and looked at me. Her expression was almost as if she forgot I was even there.

“I’ll see you upstairs,” Paul said to her with a grin.

Everyone else proceeded upstairs as I approached my wife.

“Hey, when did you change, and why did Paul just spank you?” I said, slightly upset.

“Oh, he was just being playful, Jeremy. You promised you wouldn’t get jealous, remember?” she said with a stern tone.

“Okay, you are right, I’m sorry. Did you change into your bikini in the limo though?”

“Ya. It’s not a big deal. I was super quick. Don’t worry so much,” said Lara very dismissively.

“So you were naked in the limo?”

“Jeeze, Jeremy! See, this is why I didn’t think that this would be a good idea. You are worrying over nothing!”

She didn’t deny it, but it seemed like asking her was only making things worse, so I decided to just give up on the topic.

We proceeded upstairs to a condo that you would only see in the movies. It had thirty-foot-high ceilings, with a second floor that wrapped around the living room. Off the balcony was the large stone hot tub that some people were already enjoying. I could only see their silhouettes in the hot tub, with the only light coming from inside.

“Isn’t Paul’s place beautiful?” my wife asked as she clung to my arm.

Before I could respond, Paul and Chloe came over to us.

“Hey guys,” Paul said. “Jeremy, welcome and make yourself at home. Anything you want is yours.”

“Thank you for having me. Perhaps just a drink for now,” I responded.

“Of course, Chloe and I were just about to go get a drink ourselves. Why don’t you join us?” Paul said as Chloe smiled excitedly.

“Sounds good to me,” I said as I began to follow them to the kitchen.

“Oh, Lara, Mike and Shawn are looking for you. Why don’t you go say hi to them while we entertain your husband. They are over there,” Paul said as he pointed in the direction of the hot tub.

A big grin came across my wife's face as she almost jumped with excitement.

“Okay!” she said as she gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll come find you after, okay sweetie?”

I nodded and continued to follow Paul and Chloe. I peeked behind me as I saw Lara head to the hot tub and climb in.

We continued into the kitchen, and Paul passed me a beer. “Your wife is an amazing woman, Jeremy. You are a very lucky man,” Paul said before taking a sip of what looked like whiskey in a rock glass.

I nodded in agreement as I tried to peer through the kitchen doorway to the hot tub. It looked as if Lara was sitting on someone, but it was hard to tell. I wanted to get closer to see what was going on, but I didn’t want to be rude.

“Paul! Come here!” said a man’s voice from the other room.

“Ah, I’m being called away. Once again, Jeremy, please make yourself at home. Maybe Chloe can show you around until your wife comes back,” said Paul, as he headed back into the living room.

“Okay, let’s go get comfy then,” Chloe said as she grabbed my hand and pulled me to the couch in the living room. It was closer to the tub, and I could see a little bit better. It looked as though a girl was giving a lap dance to someone in the hot tub, but I couldn’t be sure.

Is that Lara?

My mind was racing again. Chloe just started talking about a movie she just saw. I wasn’t really able to pay attention, and just nodded now and then. I was determined to find out what was going on in that hot tub though.

“Hey Chloe, I want to go change into my swim trunks. Where can I go?”

“Oh, if you go upstairs there is a bathroom you can use,” Chloe said, her attention immediately turning to someone else.

She just wandered off, so I decided to just go upstairs. I could probably get a better view from up there without letting Lara see me.

The second floor was essentially an open-concept bedroom with a balcony overlooking the living room. I could see out of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows into the hot tub. I changed into my trunks and a t-shirt, then headed back out to see if I could get a better view of the hot tub.

I checked the second floor for other people and then approached the railing. I stood far enough back that I could now see better without being noticed.

It was still hard to see, but I could make out now that Lara was the girl giving the lap dance. She was grinding her ass into a guy’s lap. It looked less like dancing now and more like she was bouncing on him. Was she fucking him?

The man’s hands were holding onto my wife’s waist. It looked almost as if he was guiding her. The other man watched with one hand under the water. There were too many bubbles from the jets to see anything under the water, though.

Lara slowly stood up, and then made her way over to straddle the other man, facing him. The other man untied her bikini top and pulled it off of her before burying his face into her chest.

My stomach sank as my topless wife was now grinding on this guy’s lap. Her hips were sliding back and forth. The man sucked on my wife’s breast before they both paused for a second.

Lara’s movements changed as she now started moving up and down. The man’s hands were under the water, clearly on my wife’s ass.

He was sucking on her nipples as she started picking up the pace. I could see her biting her lip. The man gripping her tight leaned his head back. I could hear him grunting slightly through the open sliding door.

Was he cumming inside my wife? She is not even taking birth control since we decided that we are going to try to have a baby. Lara started trembling as well as she threw her head back before collapsing on the man’s shoulder.

I couldn’t watch this anymore. Even if they were not actually having sex, she was giving that guy a topless lap dance while he sucked on her breast. I stormed downstairs and was on my way to the elevator. I was just about to press the button to leave this horrible situation.

I paused as I stared at the elevator. I can’t leave like this...

I headed back towards the hot tub, but Lara was already gone. I wandered around looking for her, and found her in the kitchen with Chloe. They were taking a shot of something and giggling. She had her wet bikini on again.

“Lara?” I said as I approached them in a stern voice.

“Oh, there you are!” she said as she ran over to me and kissed me. “I see you are ready to get wet!”

“Can we go talk somewhere and talk?” I asked.

“Uh sure I guess,” she said, confused, before looking back at Chloe. “I’ll be back in a min.”

I brought her upstairs to the bathroom and closed the door.

“What were you doing in the hot tub?” I said sharply.

“I was hanging out with Mike and Shawn. They just started at my work recently, and are working their way up the ranks super fast.” Lara said almost as if she was bragging.

“What were you doing with them in the hot tub?” I asked again, this time with a bit of anger in my voice.

“I was just giving them a lap dance. Shawn dared me, and then Mike felt left out so I gave him one too. It was nothing,” she said cheerfully. Almost as if it was something that people do all the time.

“It didn’t look like nothing.”

“Oh my god, Jeremy! Were you spying on me?” she said angrily.

“What the hell? You said you wouldn’t do this!”

“You also said it was just harmless flirting!”

“It was okay. I was giving them a lap dance, and Mike took my bikini top off. Wasn’t it a big deal, okay? They are just boobs!”

“So you were just dancing for them?” I said sarcastically.

“Yes! I mean... “ Lara’s tone changed. It seemed more sincere now.

“Okay, so I was giving Shawn a dance, and he wasn’t wearing his bathing suit. I didn’t know he took it off. When I was dancing on him, he untied my bikini bottoms and threw them. It wasn’t a huge deal, so I just kept going,” she said.

“And then?” I replied.

“And then... He got hard. He was just rubbing on me, and then his thing just slipped inside me. It was an accident. I tried to get off him, but it was hard. It felt nice so I just let it happen for a minute.”

What???

“It was just an accident, okay? Please don’t be upset.”

How could she even ask me not to be upset? Of course I’m upset... But somehow she made me start to feel guilty.

How? Why?

I was jealous, but for some reason I wasn’t mad.

“And what about the other guy?” I asked while trying to stay calm.

“Who, Mike? Oh well, he wanted a lap dance too, but he claimed it wasn’t fair that Shawn got to be inside me and he didn’t, so...” Lara replied, sounding way too casual.

“So?” I replied.

“So, I let him as well...But it was only for a minute,” she said, making it sound like that was okay somehow. “Can we go back and enjoy the party now please?” Lara said, hugging me tightly. “I love you, and I’ll make it up to you later, okay?”

My wife just admitted to fucking someone else, and now she is making me feel bad for it...

I paused for a moment, unable to find any words to respond with.

“Okay, fine, I guess,” I said. I’m not sure how I gave in so easily or that I trusted her, but I did.

Lara grabbed my hand and opened the door to the bathroom.

“Did you make them cum?” I asked as she pulled me along.

“Would be kinda mean if I didn’t,” she said, chuckling.

We went back downstairs and met up with Chloe again. She was topless now, as were most of the women at the party. Her breasts were just as amazing as I imagined. They made me almost forget about everything that had just happened.

“Lara!! Let the girls out! Let them be freeee!” Chloe shouted, clearly drunk.

Lara looked at me with an innocent look on her face. “Would you mind if I took my top off, sweetie? I’ll only do it if you give me permission.”

I nodded. I wasn’t sure what else to do. I was sure that she would have taken it off eventually anyway, and I didn’t want to seem like that pathetic jealous husband. She untied her top and handed it to me. Her beautiful breasts and cute pink nipples were on display for everyone to see.

I started getting hard as Chloe and my wife stood in front of me topless. I started to wonder if Lara would ever agree to a threesome. That would be a good way to pay me back.

“These too!” Chloe shouted as she pulled the string for Lara’s bottoms off. They fell to the floor, but my wife didn’t seem to mind. She casually just reached for another shot from the counter, completely naked.

Just then Luke came up behind Lara and started whispering in her ear. She giggled a bit before biting her lip and closing her eyes.

I wish I knew what he was saying to her.

Then I looked back to see Luke’s hand between my wife’s legs. He must be touching her pussy. I was about to say something, but then Chloe collapsed on the floor. Looks like the alcohol was finally too much for her.

Lara dropped to the floor to check on her.

“Chloe! Are you okay?” Lara said as she inspected the incapacitated teen.

“Jeremy, can you please help me bring her upstairs and put her to bed?”

I was angry but still concerned, so I picked her up and carried her upstairs to the bedroom.

Chloe started mumbling, “How did it taste?

What is she talking about?

“How did what taste?” I asked.

Chloe giggled, “Paul and Luke’s cum, silly!”

I figured she must have thought I was someone else, so I just ignored it.

“Weeeeeeeee! I’m flying!” Chloe screamed as I carried her up the stairs.

“And now you are landing,” I said, chuckling as I placed her in the bed. I took one last glimpse at her amazing body before I covered her with a blanket.

“You are such a nice guy, Jeremy,” she mumbled again. “But I want to know how it tasted when you kissed her?”

What the hell?

“When I kissed who?” I asked, confused.

“When you kissed your Lara. Your wife. When you kissed her after Paul and Luke came in her mouth?” Chloe asked, giggling. “She really loves you though, so don’t worry. I love you too, actually! Awesome guy!”

I started feeling nauseous when I finally understood what she was saying.

Now I understood why she didn’t want to kiss me at the office.

I took a few deep breaths and went downstairs to look for Lara again.

I went back into the kitchen, but I couldn’t see her. I just saw Luke standing behind the island counter with his eyes closed. Most of the guests were gone by this point, and there were few places she could hide.

“Hey Luke, have you seen my wife?” I asked.

“Ya bro, she’s right here.”

I looked around, but I didn’t see her. Finally I saw her stand up from behind the counter.

“You were just sucking his dick, weren’t you?” I asked, incredibly disappointed.

She simply nodded innocently. She had that “I know I’m in trouble,” look on her face.

Luke pushed her down so her hands were resting on the counter, her back arched, and she poked her butt in the air.

“Don’t worry about it, bro! She’s just having fun,” Luke said as he began pushing his cock into my wife.

She looked at me, and bit her lip as he began fucking her.

“I ... uh... I’m... sorry... I... Uh... didn’t want... you ... Uhhm...to see me like... Ugh... this...” she said moaning as Luke slowly pushed in and out of her.

I wasn’t even angry anymore. I was just... Lost, I guess. I was upset at what was happening, but I just couldn’t look away.

I just stood there and watched as Luke fucked my wife.

Pounding her harder and harder.

“Fuck me! Fuck me!” she cried out. “Fuck my ass!”

Wait what? Was he fucking her in the ass?

“You never let me fuck your ass before!” I shouted.

“Ugh fuck... I will, baby... Ugh... I will... uhhh... You can have my ass too!”

“You’re welcome, bro!” Luke said as he held up his hand, waiting for a high five.

I just looked at him and shook my head while he continued pounding my wife’s ass.

I was shocked, but I couldn’t stop watching.

Paul entered the kitchen completely naked and came up beside me and put his hand on my shoulder.

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. Your wife is an amazing woman,” Paul said to me as he handed me another beer. “Are you going to get in on this?”

Unable to even turn and look at him, I just shook my head. I continued to gaze on as Luke sodomized my wife. It was almost as if I was in a trance as I watched her tits bounce with each thrust of Luke’s cock.

“Suit yourself,” said Paul, as he walked over to the other side of the island.

He simply nodded at Luke, as if to signal something. Luke then stood my Lara up while still inside her ass. He reached down under her legs and picked her up. Paul moved in between her legs and started pressing his massive cock into her pussy.

My wife reached her arms back around Luke’s neck while wrapping her legs around Paul. She was being double penetrated by both of them. Her moans got louder and louder as their cocks simultaneously pushed in and out of her holes.

“Ohh yessssss fuck me!” Lara screamed in ecstasy.

They both increased their rhythm almost as if they were completely in sync. The sound of skin slapping and my wife’s screams echoed in the room.

Lara leaned forward and held on to Paul, kissing him passionately. Her body started shaking as she broke the kiss and threw her head back, screaming.

“Yessss!” she screamed before moaning louder than I have ever heard before. Her orgasm looked like it was completely overwhelming her, as her hands reached around looking for something or someone to grab.

“Oh fuck!” Luke shouted as he shot his load in my wife’s ass. They both slowed down as Luke squeezed every last drop inside of her.

He pulled his cock out while his cum visibly spewed out of Lara’s ass. Paul wasn’t finished yet though. He laid my wife down on her back on top of the counter and kept pounding her. Lara gripped the side of the counter, just holding on as Paul fucked her faster and harder.

“Ugh fuck I’m almost there!” Paul groaned.

“Yess yess fill me up please!” Lara shouted.

Paul started moving with longer, slower thrusts, and he shot his seed deep into her womb. Lara looked as though she was also having another orgasm. Her moans were even louder than before.

“You go girl”, Chloe screamed from the bedroom upstairs.

Lara’s legs wrapped around Paul tightly, not allowing him to pull out as she milked every last drop from his massive member.

Paul pulled out of her slowly and walked past me. “Amazing woman,” he said, chuckling as he left the room.

My wife lay there on the counter, cum dripping out of her ass and pussy. She was trying to catch her breath but seemed completely exhausted.

I still couldn’t believe what I just witnessed. I was too in shock to think of anything at that moment.

“Sweetie?” Lara said softly, panting. “Can you take me home please?”

I was still unable to speak. I went and grabbed the shirt from my bag and helped her slide it over her head. I helped her off the counter, grabbed her purse and headed for the elevator. As we stood in the elevator, I could see the cum running down her leg.

The ride home was quiet. We didn’t speak. Once we got back home, I went and flopped into bed. Lara came into bed and lay beside me. She began undoing my pants and pulled them down. Next she pulled off my boxers and crawled up to my cock.

I was still motionless, but got hard as soon as she grabbed my cock. She licked it timidly at first to see if I would object. I still stayed motionless. Without my objection, she proceeded to take my cock in her mouth. Sucking it like she was savouring it. Her head bobbed up and down, taking my entire member in her mouth. It felt so good, but all I could think of was her fucking all those men.

She removed my cock from her mouth and crawled up me, sitting her pussy down on my shaft. She was still so wet with the combination of her moisture and the cum of the three other men that filled her pussy tonight that I know of. She moved her hips, running her sloppy pussy up and down my cock. She lifted herself and reached for my dick and placed the tip at her opening.

“Haven’t you had enough tonight?” I asked.

“Mmm mmm,” she said in a cute, innocent tone, and she shook her head. “Always more for the man that gets to take me home.”

She slowly lowered herself on my now throbbing cock. I don’t understand how I can still be turned on after everything I saw tonight. Her pussy felt loose and sloppy but still... it felt really good. She started riding me slowly and sensually.

“I love you,” she said, and she buried her head into my shoulder.

I was so built up that it didn’t take long for me to cum. Lara collapsed on top of me, and we both drifted off to sleep.

The next morning we talked, and she confessed everything to me. She told me about the kiss and how she sucked Paul and Luke’s cocks at the office. About the sex in the limo, and the hot tub with Shawn, and Mike, and about the three dozen other men she has fucked since starting her new job.

I was heartbroken, but I still loved her. I honestly had no idea what to do next.

I asked her if she would stop, but she was reluctant to agree. She said that she would do anything to make me happy though. It was not really the clear answer I was looking for, but I accepted.

To be continued…

Next chapter link below…