The Beginning...

(Based on true events)

It all began when she cheated on me.

It was a Christmas party at my friend's house. We were wearing ugly sweaters, and ours were atrocious. I'd wrapped my puke-green sweater in Christmas lights, and I plugged myself in whenever I was near an outlet. She wore a red sweater with a green t-shirt on top, and she'd cut out the words "Ho Ho Ho" on the front so the letters showed through in red. Little did I know how fitting her sweater would be...

The party was hopping. Five of my friends had rented that house together, and they each brought friends from their own walks of life: law school students, engineers, theater geeks -- the crowd was loud and diverse. The music was popping, booze was flowing, and people were making connections all over the house. Unfortunately, my wife was about to make the wrong kind of connection.

I drank too much, and so had she. I found myself slumped in a computer chair in the den, drowsy, watching a group of people dancing under the Christmas tree. My wife had disappeared. Where had she gone? No matter, I trusted her, and I liked that she was friends with my friends.

Soon, I heard someone mention that the downstairs bathroom had been locked for too long. Worried that someone had passed out in there -- maybe even Karen -- I quickly sobered up. Someone turned off the music. My friend John, one of the tenants, was knocking on the door.

"You okay in there?"

We heard someone shuffling around inside. A jingle -- was that a Christmas bell? No, a belt buckle, and soon the door was open. It was Karen, now with rumpled hair and a look of shame. Behind her was a man, a friend of a friend, and I didn't know his name.

"Ooooh," roared the crowd, followed by whoops and whistles. Those who didn't know us must've thought it was an innocent hookup. John, looking sick, shot me a wide-eyed glance. It was time to go.

I grabbed her by the hand and led her out the front door. I called an Uber. She had nothing to say, so I demanded, "What the fuck was that? What just happened?"

"I think I drank too much."

"Too much what, too much cum?!"

I meant it as a cruel joke, but she nodded. I reeled, feeling dizzy. The Uber showed up, and we rode home in silence.

When we got inside the apartment, I got her a glass of water and demanded answers. She sat at the kitchen table, looking down into her cup. I stood at the counter, watching, waiting.

"I sucked his dick. That's it."

I shook my head. "And how did that happen?"

"I had to go to the bathroom. It was unlocked, so I opened the door. He was standing there, peeing."

"And?"

"It happened so fast. He asked if I wanted to suck his dick, and I said yes."

Insane. "What would possess you to do that?"

"I don't know, it was hot. And he had a really big dick."

My stomach lurched, my skin crawled, and a shiver ran up my back. My wife just sucked a man's "really big dick." I wanted to lay down and die, and yet -- why was I getting a boner?

"I don't know what to do," I said. "Are we done? Are you done with me?"

"No!" Tears welled up in her eyes. She looked up at me, her makeup starting to run. "Don't -- don't leave me. I don't want to lose you." She noticed the bulge in my jeans, a look of confusion crossing her face.

"Then you better start to suck it," I said.

She did, right there in the kitchen. She got down on her knees in her black leather miniskirt, the flirty little number she wore beneath her sweater. She unleashed my cock from my jeans, all four erect inches, and wrapped the shaft in her grip. She started kissing and licking my head, using that same mouth that just had engulfed that man's "really big dick." I started fucking her throat, my head just grazing the back of her throat, and she took me with ease.

"Did he cum?" I asked.

She attempted to nod.

"Did you swallow?"

She looked up at me, fresh tears in her eyes. She nodded again.

"Of course, you did." I nearly burst, but I held on. I kept on thrusting. "Did you fuck him?"

She spit out my cock, saliva running down her chin. "No!" she said.

"I better check." I took her hands and stood her up, bending her over the kitchen sink. Her cute round ass stuck out, the bottom of her ass cheeks protruding from beneath her skirt. I pulled her skirt up, roughly, revealing her naked ass and cunt. "Where are your underwear?" I asked.

I knew she had worn them, I'd watched her put them on, my favorite pair. It was a tiny white thong that framed her ass perfectly, not fancy, but sleek and smooth. They were gone.

"I -- I must've left them at the house," she said.

"And you're telling me you didn't fuck him?" I asked. I lined up my head against her swollen cunt. It was drenched.

"I didn't, I swear." Her breath was panicked and heavy.

I teased her, running my head up and down her crease. "Then where are your panties, Karen?" I asked.

"He took them," she said. "I -- think he put them in his pocket. But he didn't fuck me, only you get to fuck me."

I pushed my cock in, but only an inch. I pulled back, spreading her juices over her lips. "Then what happened? What did you do?"

"I sucked his dick, and -- he fingered me."

"He only fingered you?"

"Yes -- Oh God. Please, fuck me."

I teased her some more. "Why didn't he fuck you?"

"He wanted to, but -- Ugh!" I inserted myself again, fully this time, all four inches to the hilt. It was forceful, my hips colliding with her ass with a smack.

"But what, Karen?" I started fucking her slowly.

"But, he already came. And we didn't have time. So he took my panties, and -- he started fingering me."

The image was surreal. I imagined this man, limp dick down to his knees and dripping cum, fingering my wife up under her skirt. Was he kissing her? Touching her breasts? I felt my orgasm building.

"Did you want him to fuck you?" I asked.

"N -- No!"

"Don't lie to me. Did you want his big dick to fuck you?" I thrust harder, and harder still.

"I -- Uh! -- Yes!"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I -- I wanted him to fuck me."

And I came, hard, right inside her bare pussy. It was also intense, I had lasted under a minute. When I finished, I pulled down her skirt and walked away, headed to the bathroom to take a long, cold shower.

When I emerged, Karen was on the bed in her nightgown, a baggy, unflattering affair. She was watching me, her eyes full of questions and fear. I ignored her, drying off and putting on my underwear until she asked:

"Am -- Am I allowed to stay?"

I didn't look at her. "I don't know," I said. I had been thinking in the shower. "Who was that guy?" I asked.

"I -- I don't know," she said. "I didn't even catch his name."

"Do you think you could find out?"

"What? I don't know, I -- I guess. But why? Don't do anything, please! Don't go try to hurt him."

I looked at her, my expression blank and unmoving. I had thought about it in the shower, and I couldn't believe I was about to ask it. I took a risk. "Do you think you still want to fuck him?"

"No!" She got up on her knees on the bed, pleading. "I'd never, I don't know why I did that, I --"

"But what if I wanted you to?" I asked.

She froze. "What?"

"If I wanted you to fuck him. If I wanted you to fuck his really big dick. Would you do it? Would you want to?"

"I don't understand."

"The only way we stay together," I began, "is if you fuck him."

Her jaw dropped open. She blinked and looked away.

"No questions asked," I said. "Please."

"Fine," she said. "I'll ask around. I'll find out who he is, and if that's what you want, I'll fuck him." She sat back on the bed, defeated, confused.

"Good," I said. I shot her a glance. "And bring back your panties as proof."

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