Palindrome

"Hey babe," Phil was lying on the bed shirtless, his massive pecs and deltoids on display, ready for sleep. "Could you come home early tomorrow? Tomorrow's kinda nice date and I wanna take you out for dinner, or maybe we could have dinner at the house?"

I looked at Phil's warm hazel eyes. We had such a rowdy year last year, what with the pandemic and my father's death and the rejection of our adoption application, that was the last straw, and he was putting in moves to rectify our relationship. At least that was what the marriage counsellor suggested after we failed our adoption application.

And I still loved the guy. Deep down, I knew I lucked out in marrying him. He was the Adonis, the handsome quarterback, the McDreamy of this relationship while I was the petulant nerdy kid from across the street. We met our second year in college, we were each other's date to the sophomore's ball, and (blush) had lost virginity to each other. We were each others' first, and if powers that be would have it, the last.

But I could not sweeten the jab when I asked back, "Can you cook, though? Remember the last time?" Half of our kitchen was black with soot from the fires that Phil always managed to produce when he was manning the stove or God forbid the grill. It was his only weakness, the only thing that was not quite right with his supposed alpha-maleness, this inability to harness a grill to his will. "Maybe you could have Scotty help you."

Phil let out a tiny groan. He hated Scotty my younger brother, and the hate was entirely mutual. I didn't know what the issue was, one day they were the best of friends, then suddenly out of nowhere the two were at each other's throats like cats and dogs, except quieter and more civilized. But enough was enough, someone in the room had to be the adult. "I've decided. Scotty will help with the cooking and you will do the prep work." Phil let out a huge sigh, accepting his defeat.

"Okay, but if anything breaks it's your brother's fault."

22/02/2022

I was deep at work, juggling four open spreadsheets at once, when a message came from Phil. Scotty had arrived with the groceries, and he had caught Phil at shower. The next message had them taking photos side by side of them prepping the food, before the actual cooking. Apparently Phil had decided modesty was out of the window and was prepping the food with only a towel. One picture in particular took me by surprise, where Scotty had a lump of cream coating his finger and Phil was licking it and Scotty was looking at the camera with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I spent a few minutes staring at that photo. I knew Scotty was gay, he came out to the family after I did, but I never did think of him in his gayness until today. What must have been running in his mind, I wondered, there alone with my hunk of a husband, with only a towel covering his family jewels, even if there was past animosity between them? Now I regretted ever telling him of Phil's prowess in bed - of his large and thick nine-inch cock, big bull balls, his deep kisses and his awesome stamina. I found myself developing an erection there in the office in the middle of the day.

I decided to call it a day earlier than usual. The drive home was slightly stressful, will-they or won't-they situation. I decided against parking in our lot, instead to park down the road slightly far away. The house was quiet, there was a slight smell of something savory in the oven but no other unmistakable smell of cooking. I kept quiet. If I hear intently I could hear groans from upstairs.

I climbed the stairs gingerly on stockinged feet. On the hallway were scattered articles of clothing. On the railing was my husband's blue-white gingham towel. I could almost see the scene: my husband pulling off the towel at the top of the stairs and wagging off his considerable cock as Scotty looked up from the stairs, probably smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

The door to our bedroom was open ever so slightly. I peered in and watched the scene on our marital bed as the thick cock of my husband of five years rammed inside my brother's white ass. Groans were running from my husband's mouth, as were moans from my brother's.

"If I know you had this tight ass I wouldn't marry your brother," my husband grunted, as he fucked his raw cock into that tight ass, the ass of my younger brother. "Fuck, so fucking tight."

"Yeah right, your loss," Scotty replied cheekily. "Umm, yeah, right there, fuck."

"Fucking grade A asshole."

"Better than my brother?"

"Fuck, much better, much better," Phil whispered against Scotty's nape. "I'm fucking cumming, can I cum up your ass again?"

"Come, take my ass," Scotty whispered back. "Breed me, bro."

"FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!"

I turned from the door. That was when I realized I had came, the slimy semen running down the leg of my pants. I was in a state of confusion. There on my marital bed had been my husband and my brother, who betrayed me in the worse way possible, and here I was, my cum running down my thighs from the betrayal. Who was I? I didn't even know anymore.