Should He Let His Wife Get Nailed?

"Shit, girl, we can't take you nowhere," said Rick as he helped lift her up. His hands continued to bolster her softer parts as she gained her ground, and he leaned in close to whisper something in her ear. She snorted a laugh and faux slapped him, forcing an instant rush of blood to flow from her husband's head into his nether regions.

Meanwhile, Benjamin cluelessly giggled while slowly spinning in circles. But then, as the crew debated how to wheelbarrow themselves into a bar without getting instantly banned, Benjamin uttered the most glorious line of the night.

"Hey, Rick, why don't we take this party back to your place?"

********

"This is happening. This is happening. This is really fucking happening. What the fuck am I doing? Is this insane? Holy shit, this is really happening. Did I bring condoms? Fuck, I knew we should have gotten her fixed. Shit. This is really happening."

These were among the more lucid thoughts in our man's mind, whose drunken fog had been replaced with a crystal clear vision of his wife getting boned by Rick while Benjamin pointed and blushed from the corner. Poor bastard of a married fuck. Maybe he would at least have a cameraphone so that he could jerk off later?

Our man was sprinting his way back to the car so that he could drive them to Rick's place. Rick had generously offered to guard the girl while her husband fetched the ride. Our man nearly leapt through the window in his excitement, thrusting the keys into the ignition and twisting the car to life as he adjusted the swollen member between his legs. "How the fuck did I keep a hard-on while running," he wondered.

Nevermind that. The lock over his sexual treasure chest was finally cracking open, and he refused to let scientific inquiry or logic stand in his way.

As he pulled up to the bar, the husband saw Benjamin lighting a cigarette from the passenger seat of his mini-van across the street. Poor fucking bastard, he thought. I bet that he never even took advantage of the one good feature of driving a mom wagon.

Meanwhile, as they sat on a bench outside of the bar, our man's darling bride was under a full-on sexual assault from the dread pirate Rick. One of his hands was climbing under her skirt, and the other was pinching the nipple of her right breast. She was leaning over to one side, her head rolled around with her eyes closed, looking like she'd been drugged.

Shit, our man thought. What if they roofied her? Why the hell would they do that? She has to work tomorrow morning. Shit.

As he pondered this, Benjamin jumped to life. He saw our man taking in the scene, and furiously laid into his horn. Rick nearly leapt out of his skin, the warning signal apparently coming a bit late and a bit long for his tastes. Meanwhile, the wife flopped facefirst onto the bench that Rick had so rapidly vacated.

Our man got out of the car and approached the raggedy duo. Rick, apparently too horny to be perceptive of another man's feelings, immediately began to back off like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Meanwhile, our man noticed the crowd of onlookers that had gathered to watch the softcore porn enactment outside the bar.

"It's cool, Rick. Don't worry. Let's just get back to your place and we can have some fun."

Rick's jaw dropped open. The two men looked at each other for a moment, neither quite certain that the unspoken had been understood. And then a sudden sense of calm developed between them. As each took an arm of the woman whom they both planned to fuck that night, it was like the world silenced itself to watch what would happen.

"Welllllll, fuck yeah, man, let's get it on!"

Poetic, Rick. Poetic. I hope your cock is bigger than your vocabulary.

********

This is the point of no return, our man told himself as he followed the mini-van with bumper stickers featuring the stick figure equivalents of Benjamin's family. This is where I either turn around, go home, pay our babysitter and have a normal roll in the hay with my wife... or I haul my (possibly drugged) bride's borderline comatose frame into a rusty warehouse to watch a total stranger possibly give her an STD.

And, while she may not recall a thing in the morning, I will remember this decision for the rest of my life.

But what if she wakes up in the middle of it? What if she realizes what I have done? Is there any way she would go along with it? What if she jumps up and goes insane, calls the cops or some shit?

Our man then thought back to their conversation on the way up here, and his wife's comments at the bar before she passed out.

Could it be possible that my wife is bored enough to get nailed by Rick's hammer? That she would even want this in her more sober moments, but is at last collapsing into her desire through the plying power of booze?

He pondered what to do as Benjamin's brake lights lit and Rick's lecherous paw reached out the window to point at the shadowy entrance of his lair. The warehouse was surrounded in shade with a single, uncovered bulb burning above the slowly opening garage door.

As the door raised, our man could dimly see what lay beyond. A cavernous room filled with workbenches, machinery and overflowing crates. Strewn among them were mismatched couches and wingback chairs, and over all of it hung a dimly familiar pattern of Christmas lights. He could see a pair of guitars leaning gloriously against a wall covered in posters of scantily clad women.

Benjamin parked in the driveway, leapt from the van and turned around. The grin on his face was both childish and malevolent as he slowly raised his hand to wave.

"Come on, buddy," yelled Rick over his shoulder as he adjusted his crotch through his jeans. "I'm gonna find us some beer and some tunes. Get her in here!"

Our man's heart pounded in the pit of his pants. He felt like his balls were about to burst as he tightly gripped the wheel of his car. He could turn off the car and carry his bride inside, or he could turn around and go home for a furious fuck in fidelity.

He looked over at her, with her head leaning to one side and her tits bulging out of her shirt. A button had either snapped or been opened, and she looked supremely fuckable but unaware of her exposure.

What was he to do?

*****

Let me know in the comments if the story should proceed, and how. Should the husband hero drive her off and go home? or should he take her inside? or ... the choice is yours.