She is my wife. She belongs to me. Yet I am letting him have her.
When we got the news that we couldn’t get pregnant it broke me. When I found out it was all my fault, I could barely accept it. I was lacking, was the one without the ability to conceive. My fertile wife needed help.
And of all the people we could have chosen it had to be him, her oldest and best friend. I’ve long suspected they had a thing for each other, but god I never really let myself believe it. Not until tonight.
On paper he was perfect, a perpetual bachelor and a man who looked enough like me that our child could pass as mine. And he was good to her, always attentive and there for her. He was the best support we could have asked for, just so long as we played by the rules.
This is about achieving an end, it’s not about having fun. This is about conceiving a child, it’s not about fulfilling desires. This is about helping us, not helping himself to my wife.
But from the moment it begins I know I’ve made a terrible mistake. Her best friend wants to make up for lost time, he wants to claim her for his own. He wants to make her moan and satisfy her. He wants to make her want him, to need him, to crave him.
She’s my wife, but by the end of the night I know she’ll belong to him.
Excerpt
Mel is a beautiful woman, more beautiful than I deserve by leagues. She is stunning, standing in repose. She is gorgeous and intensely sexual, demanding the energy and the attention of both of us men.
And that presence is enough to shift the balance of power once more. She takes an artful pause at the end of her dance and soaks it in, inhaling slow and letting it suffuse into her being before she smiles, a sly smile that is too much like his own, and sashays forward.
When she moves now it’s clear who she thinks is in charge, who she knows is in charge. She is in complete control, the two of us eating out of the palm of her hand.
Mel pressed those hands of hers into his body and I wonder what she was planning. When her fingers find the buttons of his shirt I realize that she’s undressing him but I don’t know whether the act is for her or for him. I know for certain that she’s indulging a little, taking her time. She’s letting her touch linger, getting to know his body.
I am aware of what I am, of who I am. Soft and not muscular. Not weak, but not strong either.
Not a man to be desired, no that’s not me. I am missing the hard firmness of a body like his, like Brad.
It has been years since Mel has been with a man like him. Even at my peak, I couldn’t compare.
But I’ve seen the pictures in the box she keeps in the closet. That little keepsake of exes that I can’t fault her for, because I have one of my own as well.
Some of her exes are soft like me, but the dominant majority are hard like him. Broad shoulders and firm arms. Strong bodies that know how to work a beauty like her.
How to make her moan like I never could. Like my roommate did to the girl that came before.
That night, all those years ago, started off so different. It was the two of us working on her body like Mel is working on Brad. Stripping my girlfriend and laying her bare and when she was naked she turned to him. She kissed him, and that kiss said everything.
My part was done quickly. She pushed my roommate back and focused her attention on me. It was an act that thrilled me, that set my place at the top of her priorities until, in the end, I saw what it really was.
Getting me off so she could get me out of the way.
My girlfriend. Mine. But his by the end of the night because after she made me gasp and erupt, my cum spilling out and staining the floor between us, she pushed him onto the bed. She grabbed him and tasted him and she took him inside of her and rode him with everything she had.
And she kissed him, not in the way that she kissed me. She kissed him with everything she had in her, everything she wanted. She kissed him and it broke my heart.
Mel touches Brad with reverence. She gets his shirt off and his pants and his boxers. She makes him bare, just as bare as she is, and she slides her hands down and pauses just above his half-hard cock that, even soft, is still far more impressive than mine.
She looks at me then. She stares me dead in the eyes as she breaks the rule and wraps her fingers around his shaft. She looks at me as she strokes him, as she brings him to full hardness and life. And her eyes stare daggers at me daring me to interfere.
I won’t. She’s breaking the rules but I won’t stop her. I won’t say a word.
Because at least she isn’t kissing him.