My Wife, Her Boss, His Party

"You're going to get more of it," he smiled in response. I felt ashamed that now both Claire and Eric knew that I had never made Amanda come with my cock, but that wasn't going to stop any of this, nor did I really want it to.

"Well do it then-fuck me, Eric. I'm yours . . . this is the first cock that's made this pussy come, so it belongs to you. It's your pussy now, Eric. So take what's yours!"

He didn't need to be asked twice, and started pounding her twice as hard as before. Claire was still caressing my chest with one hand, but I noticed that her other hand had moved down her own jeans, and she couldn't help but touch herself as she watched the scene of raw sexual power before her.

"John do you hear that? She's not going to be yours in the same way after this . . . I still love my boyfriend, but there are parts of me that only Eric can touch, parts of me that only he owns. Can you deal with knowing that, John? With knowing that Eric owns a part of your wife?" She hissed in my ear.

"Oh god . . ." I moaned, jerking my cock as she said this. Getting so close . . .

Eric kept thrusting into Amanda's body, her legs wrapped around him, her lips reaching for his. She came again, then again . . . I think we all lost count.

"I want you to finish inside me, Eric" I heard Amanda say. "I want you to own me . . . to make me completely yours-to fill me up. Do it--cum inside me Eric. I want to feel you inside me."

She pulled him into her with a ferocious intensity, and he fucked her with matching force. Harder. Harder. Never relenting. He was taking her from me. She was becoming his. Harder. Harder. And then it was happening. He was coming-he was coming inside my wife's body.

"Oh god-yes-Eric-don't stop--fill me up. I'm yours" She smiled with almost delirious pleasure as she felt the warmth of his cum enter her. "I'm yours . . . I'm yours."

I looked down to find semen covering my abdomen and Claire's hand on my cock. Somehow in the midst of it all she had made me come too.

"You did it John-that wasn't so hard now, was it?"

"Did what?"

"You had your first time-the first time's always the hardest, as they say. But you did it. And now you really are what you've always just fantasized about being." She began wiping the semen off her hands on my shirt.

"You're a cuckold."

Aftermath

I don't even remember how we made our way home that night. Whether I had left the room without Amanda or if we left together. I barely remember driving home with her.

It is as though I had been dead drunk (though this was far from the case). Large portions of the night seemed almost like dreams to me.

And.

Well.

I felt strangely violated. Clearly I had been insanely aroused. By Claire. By Amanda. By what Eric had done to my wife. And at some point, with Claire's help, I came all over myself.

But it all felt strange-even wrong somehow. Almost as though-and I know this sounds crazy-almost as if Claire had somehow raped me.

I didn't know exactly what I wanted, what I didn't. What I had said yes to, and what was forced on me. The whole thing turned me on like nothing I had ever encountered. But it also disgusted me. I felt disgusted with myself and my desires, but I simultaneously felt like jerking off to my dim memories of what had happened.

My head swam.

I drank until I passed out.

-----

When I woke up in the morning Amanda was there, holding me.

"Hey, sweetie." I said.

"Morning, love."

"I . . . well . . . last night was crazy, wasn't it?"

"I'll say."

"I-look, Amanda, I love you, and I found so much of last night thrilling . . . I just . . . I . . ."

"It's OK, John, you can tell me."

"I don't really know what to say-I guess I just feel a little weird. I was just so turned on while it all was happening, but now I'm a little confused about what I think, I guess."

"I get it, John-I feel the same. And baby I'm sorry--it was so intense in so many ways. I don't regret it, precisely-it was mostly amazing. But I also know that . . . that . . . well, that some of the things I said hurt you. That some of the things that happened hurt you."

She looked at me with real love in her eyes and it drew me to her.

"Maybe it was wrong to involve Claire, or even for Eric to know about you that night. I don't know. It's all confusing."

"It's confusing for me too, Amanda. I — well I can't lie and say the Claire part wasn't exciting. I mean, it was all exciting. I also can't lie about the other stuff: I loved watching you with . . . with him."

"With Eric?"

"Yes."

"I know. I could tell. But I also know that this is all moving really fast, and we're risking a lot by moving so fast. It's not that I want to slow down. God, John, don't hate for saying this, but I don't think i can slow down at this point. I . . . I need to have him in my life, John. I just didn't know I could feel this way."

I breathed deeply, both jealous and aroused by what she had said.

"But I don't want to risk what we have, which is why-and I've given this a lot of thought-I think I'd like to see a therapist. A sex therapist. Not because things are going wrong-more because they are going so right. Almost too right in such extreme ways. I'm worried we can't control what we've started here on our own. But given the details of the situation I'm not exactly going to go and talk to my sister or mother about it, am I?"

I was a little shocked. I didn't exactly love the idea of going to a therapist (or of therapists in general). But I had to admit there was truth in what she had said. Things we both amazing and frightening. I felt the conflicts in myself, between excitement and fear, between desire and shame. I had to admit that we were entering territory that I was seriously unprepared for emotionally and sexually. So maybe it wasn't the craziest idea.

"OK. I love you, Amanda. And trust you. If you think that this is the right thing to do, let's do it."

"Good. I actually already have someone's card-Claire recommended her, and she sounds great for us. She has lots of experience working with couples, even couples with unconventional relationships. Would you be willing to call and make an appointment? Her card's over there on my nightstand. Her name is Veronique . . . "

. . . to be continued in part 5 . . .