Thick and Thin: the End

I stumble forward and cross behind Lance on my way from the back to the front of the long sofa. I sit on the short edge of its coffee table, at right angles to them, and put my head between my knees.

When I look up again, it's uncomfortable twisting my head that far to look at what I don't want to see, but have to see. Still on autopilot, I stand again and pull the table more to Lance's side of the sofa, but back a couple of feet so they won't be right in my face. Sitting again on the long edge facing them, I stare blankly at where their hips join over the arm of the sofa.

My ears are full of buzzing or maybe it's just that their laughter sounds like flies on carrion. At any rate, I can see his face laughing. Then it seems to just be talking and I fight to make sense of the words.

"Damn, boy! You look as dazed as if I'd put you through three rounds in the ring." He laughs some more. "Hell, you'd probably feel better if I had only beat your ass."

My mind's spinning in near panic. What should I do? What can I do? I must be coming down from my high, but its remnants have been amplified by my shock. I feel myself slip into that dissociative state where I look at things as if from outside myself; or from inside, but still separate. Only this time, my old avatar Analyst Nerd, isn't alone.

'Just throw the asshole out!' the new Outraged Husband in my mind demands.

To which his companion, Unhappy Cuckold, responds with a rueful laugh. 'Yeah, right. They'll both just stop if you ask them to and he'll walk out and never see your wife again. Bullshit! You know they'll both just laugh at you as he keeps fucking her.'

'Well, then, pull his ass off of her and frog march him to the door!' declares OH.

Another laugh from UC. "A trained boxer who is both heavier and stronger than you?'

OH registers the heavy, square tequila bottle over on the other coffee table behind Lance.

UC says, 'Don't even think about it. While you're downtown under arrest for assault, he'll be fucking her all night long in your own bed.'

'But!' OH sputters impotently.

'But what?' snaps UC. 'Are you going to tell the cops that he forced his way in, that he was raping your wife? She'll just tell them the truth and then you'll have the cops' ridicule, not their sympathy. And you'll still be in jail.'

Lance's voice breaks through my bizarre internal dialogue.

"Did she tell you why she wouldn't let you fuck her ass?"

I keep staring dumbly.

"Tell him why," he says to Chrissy.

My wife's still bent over the sofa arm, pressing her arms into the seat cushion below her to push her ass back against the non-stop driving of his thick piston

She's placed a throw pillow under her head and her face rests on it, right cheek down, looking at me sideways.

"Because it's his ass," she tells me. The look in her eyes causes me the sharpest pain I've felt yet in this whole sorry mess. There's no regret, no concern, only pride.

"And how did I get your ass?"

"I gave it to you. You made me give it to you, but I wanted you to."

Lance chuckles as he considers her words. "Hmm, that's probably a fair way to put it. I made you do just what you wanted. But I haven't had to make you all the times since then, have I?"

'All the times since then,' runs round and round the edges of my brain, like a wet finger around the rim of a crystal glass, setting off a painful ringing inside my head.

"Oh, you made me all right," she cracks. "Made me want it so bad that I dropped my pants for you right in the fitness room where anyone could have walked in on us." Her laughter continues sounding proud of what they'd done, what they'd gotten away with.

All the extra workouts she's put in over the past week. Coming back to the apartment still flushed and sweaty and running straight to the bathroom with barely a word and no contact. Including earlier today. Was every absence a tryst with Lance?

"Could you tell, Bryan?" he asks. "When you were kissing and licking her ass each night in bed, could you tell the times I'd been there? Was she ever still gaping from having had my big cock in her shitter?

"But hey, I never sent her home with a creampie, did I? I actually put on a condom just before I came. Unless of course, I was sending my cum down her throat or spraying it all over her tits. You know why I did that? Because I respect you, Bryan."

My head almost explodes. Why are they doing this? Okay, you cheated on me, but why all this extra punishment? Why rub my nose in the shit? With Lance, who knows? Maybe he gets off on it, maybe it's his regular thing; maybe it's why he moved to our state two months ago -- to get away from other flaming ruins.

But Chrissy? She loves me. Doesn't she? Our lives together are good and rewarding and fun. One strange dick is all it takes to throw that aside? Or maybe it took a dick so thick it really cracked her open and exposed intense passions she didn't know she had inside? Well, I sure as hell hadn't known she had them.

Lance carries on. "I respect you because you're generous. I'm sure I've told you that before; that I really appreciate how generous you've been with me. I know I haven't been as generous with you, but I've tried, I really have."

His bizarre words raise another, 'What the fuck?' inside my head. 'What. The. Fuck!' The spark of anger helps; helps me get past the shame and the self-pity and foggy thinking. It's like the wood finally catching full flame and clearing away the heavy smoke of a smouldering ash heap. How can I burn someone with this flame?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I've been staring, but not seeing them anymore. Now I do. Lance has continued to languidly fuck Chrissy's twat while he spins his bullshit for me. But he's also been dropping big gobs of spit onto her ass and using that as lube to keep one or two fingers moving through her sphincter. He apparently doesn't want all my prep work to go to waste when it's finally time for him to ream out my cheating wife's ass again.

Our erstwhile sexual Guru continues spouting his deep thoughts. "You see, Bryan, you fucked Chrissy's pussy and mouth first, so they were yours to decide what to do with and you decided to share them with me.

"I got her ass first, so it's mine. And so far, I haven't decided to share it with you. At least not all of it. I did tell her she could let you eat her ass. And then, later, that you could finger it. But no fucking. I guess I just don't have as generous a spirit as you and that undoubtedly makes you the better man."

Is this asshole also a nut job? 'You're sorry that you've been too selfish to share my own wife's ass with me?' Then he gives the knife another twist.

"But I'll tell you what I will do. I'll let your wife decide. Chrissy, do you want me to share your ass with Bryan now?"

During all of Lance's pontificating, Chrissy's just been lying there, content to be his fuck doll. She's reached back to her ass and is holding her cheeks wide apart to aid him in his spit-fingering of her abused bunghole.

Now she says calmly, "It's really not up to me to say. As long as I end up with a big dick in my ass, I'll be happy."

Lance laughs. "You do have a way with words, my lovely slut. Bryan, did you catch how she said wanted a big dick up her ass?" He thrusts hard into my wife's cunt and she moans in animal pleasure.

I had caught it; not, 'a dick' or 'a hard dick', but 'a big dick.' By slipping in one seemingly random word she's actually made her final goal clear. Whether I fuck her in the ass or not, she definitely wants Lance to. Very clever wordplay. But my cheating whore of a wife isn't the only one tutored in the crafty methods of L&L. My head finally begins to clear and focus. If I want to come out of this with even a shred of dignity, I need to build a BTB case.

Between the physical excitement of Chrissy's incredible blowjob and the mental shock of the whole shared-wife fantasy turning into a shit show, my booze and weed buzz has burned off and I'm ready to put my legal mind to work. There's a reason I'm the top paralegal at the firm and the only one Clive Thompkins asks to help on stakeouts. I can see the details, make the connections, and act on them fast.

'Like the way you spotted what was going on with your own wife?' Unhappy Cuckold taunts me.

Hm, maybe I am still a little high after all or just plain crazy, because my mental cartoon characters are still sticking around.

'Are you going to fuck with me or help me?' I ask them.

Analyst Nerd still sits in his corner, but now he's on a boxing stool and looking like Floyd Mayweather, Jr.; cool and collected, ready to stymie his opponent and start landing hard, accurate shots. Outraged Husband and Unhappy Cuckold are at his shoulders, talking strategy for the next round and the rest of the fight.

AN: What's our goal?

OH: Burn the Bitch!

UC: And the Bastard!

AN: Okay, Burn Them Both. How?

OH: Well, there aren't millions of dollars to either take or protect, so money's out.

UC: We'd planned on children before age 30, but not yet, so that's not in play.

AN: So, what targets do we have?

OH: Expose them!

UC: Yeah! Like one of those YouTube videos where the husband holds up placards detailing her transgressions while she stands blindfolded in front of a group of their friends, thinking she's getting a surprise anniversary gift.

OH: I like it. We can set up hidden video cameras or have Clive follow them with a camera and then share the pictures at work. They'll never trust her again.

AN: And what about us?

OH/UC: (stare blankly)

AN: The carrot stays on the stick not only to protect the money, but also to protect the client's reputation. All those YouTube morons are permanently documenting their own humiliation. The L&L method is to keep private humiliation from becoming public humiliation.

OH/UC: (looking chastened)

AN: Pictures and video are good though; that's evidence. We just need to think of a better way to use it.

UC: And how to get it (sounding even more unhappy than usual). You're saying that after watching them fuck tonight, we'll have to sneak around and watch them fuck some more?

OH: That's it! Enough of this pussy legal bullshit! I'm gonna clock that motherfucker in the head with the tequila bottle and drag him and his thick dick out in the hallway. And the whore can go out with him!

AN: Again, consequences?! You miss and he kicks your ass. You hit and you're arrested for assault. And either way, everyone knows you shared your wife with some stud and she fell in love with his cock over yours. You're still the one who ends up the most burned.

OH: Fuck, fuck, fuck!!

UC: God, I would like a shot of that tequila, though.

AN: (head pops up, eyes pop open)

I don't know how long internal discussions, like dreams, actually take, maybe it's all over in nanoseconds, but I had obviously been out of it long enough to catch Lance's attention.

"Chrissy," he says in a softer, amused voice. "I think your husband's getting into this. I think he's become hypnotized from watching me stroke in and out of his wife's fine pussy.

"How about it, Bryan? You're starting to dig this whole scene, aren't you?"

In my new, clearer frame of mind, I think about this. Last Friday and Saturday I had indeed been into it. It had been fucking hot to watch Chrissy go wild on two cocks at the same time. Hell, if all this was happening pretty much like it was right now, but with us still as partners-in-lust instead of Adulterers-and-Cuckold, I'd probably be cheering him on. But as it is, I'm closer to nausea than arousal; a fact well demonstrated by my penis hanging limply between my legs. But maybe he's given me an opening.

"I don't know," I half mutter. "I'm confused."

Lance's face and voice change a bit. Still supremely confident, but less mocking, more like his original sexual Guru explaining a new concept to his acolyte.

"No reason to be confused, it's all good. It's all very good. Yes, I've cock-blocked you from your wife's ass, but have you gone without sex all week?"

I shake my head dumbly.

"Because your wife still digs your cock." Some of the mocking smugness creeps back in as he adds, "Not as much as before, of course, but she still digs it. Especially when she gets it at the same time as mine. Isn't that right, baby?"

"God, yes," she moans into the throw pillow. "The way you two bounced back and forth between my mouth and my cunny has been in my dreams every night since."

"So, you see?" says Lance. "We can still have lots of fun together. Especially since your wife and I don't have to sneak around anymore. Won't it be good to have everything out in the open?

"In fact, I bet you're one of those guys who is going to get off on sitting in here alone, just imagining what's happening on those nights when I have Chrissy stay over with me."

I lurch to my feet. In my head, Analyst Nerd and Unhappy Cuckold are clutching desperately to Outraged Husband's arms before he and I start swinging on this bastard, consequences be damned!

"I need a drink," I manage to choke out instead.

"Good idea," soothes Lance. "Skip the margarita and just take a shot and everything's going to get right back to where it should be."

I take one step to my right, then Lance freezes me in place.

"Bryan. While you're over there, look in my bag and bring over my Astroglide, okay? It's time to stop talking and start fucking for real again. And spit and pussy juice won't cut it for how long I plan to ream your wife's ass."

"About fucking time," Chrissy agrees, as she flaps her ass cheeks together and apart, like a snake's eye blinking open and closed sideways over a small, pink pupil.

I stagger over to the loveseat section of our seating area.

- UC stares at the tequila bottle and begs me to take a chug directly from the neck.

- OH urges me to go back to Plan A and smash the bottle over Lance's head.

- AN scans for Lance's drawstring bag, trying to find a way to really get me out of this mess. Then he sees it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I really would like a shot of the Patrón, but I pass the coffee table and go to the small side table, where Lance's drawstring bag sits on the floor between its legs. And where my cell phone sits in its charger on top.

A quick glance at the beast-with-two-backs behind me tells me they're both still facing the other way. Snatching up my phone, I activate the audio recording function, dialling up the mic sensitivity to enable it to capture sound from several feet away.

The first thing it records is, "How's it going, Bryan? Are you going to make me tear up your wife's tender ass with no lube?"

As I bend down to retrieve the bag, I keep scanning for something else I can use. My guitar and related gear are all I can see at hand. The tequila bottle is still the only thing that looks useful, for two reasons.

"No," I throw back toward Lance in answer to his question, "I've got it." But as I stall with these words, I'm remembering sitting on stakeouts with Clive, the retired detective. While we'd sit watching, bored but trying to stay alert, Clive would share stories from his cop days.

Clive wasn't a big man and had had to deal with much larger assholes pumped up with prison muscle. Unlike him, I didn't have a gun or handcuffs or a legally questionable blackjack to take the scum down. And besides, those solutions would still leave me on the losing end in the long run. Clive had said that in the end, the best you could usually do was find a way to control the asshole long enough for your backup to jump in with you. You might get scuffed up, but the fuck wad would be in worse shape and there'd be no technical bullshit for a lawyer to use to get him out of it.

'Carrot on a stick,' I chant. With the phone, I've started gathering evidence for the future, but what about right now?

"Um, uh," I stutter, half playacting, half real. "I still need that shot of Patrón, okay? I'm kinda nervous."

Lance laughs. "Nervous? Or excited? Tell you what, you take that shot, even two. Then when you come over here I'll let you rub the lube all over my cock and then guide it into your wife's tight ass. How does that sound, Bryan? Would you like to feel my thick cock in your hand? Would you like to be the one who pushes the fat head right through your slutty wife's backdoor?"

Chrissy moans. "Oh, God, yes! Do it, Bryan, do it. His cock will feel so good in your hand. Then you can describe it as you put another man's big dick in the hole you let him claim."

Any doubt or hesitation that might have been lingering is instantly brushed away by their cold words of cuckoldry. I don't pour myself a shot of tequila. Instead, I grab the envelope with the used guitar strings and pull them out, letting them hit the carpeted floor. Except for the thinnest, the E-string.

One end of the thin metal strand gets wrapped around the middle of my harmonica and secured with a knot. For the other end I do the same thing using the plastic string-winder crank. I work on the coffee table and bump empty shot glasses against the tequila bottle to cover my actions. Finally, I have a makeshift garrotte. The kind of weapon Clive had seen used when he investigated the murder of one prisoner by another in the county lockup.

Chrissy is still moaning, trying to push her ass back against Lance at the same time as she tries to rub her clit against the towel-covered sofa arm.

"Oh, God, I don't want to just hear about it, I want to see it. I want to watch and feel you put him in my ass at the same time." She's almost whining with her desire.

"That's a good idea," says Lance. "Bryan, look in my bag again and bring me my phone."

I'm standing there with the curled-up garrotte held behind my back in my right hand, while my left holds the bottle of lube and my own phone, recording every word of betrayal.

What would Clive do? Yes, I have some evidence and I have a weapon, but I'm still not ready to strangle a man and I still don't have the case I need to keep us from going to trial in the first place. What would Saul Lieberman and Angus Lennox do?

I quietly take a knee and lay my phone and the bottle of lube on the floor close to, but directly behind Lance so he won't see them. Back at the table, I fish around inside the drawstring bag until I pull out Lance's iPhone.

I stop short when I return to Lance's side, so my right hand with the garrotte is still a bit behind him. I hand him the phone with my left. He shows a nasty grin as he takes it and turns on the video recorder. He points it down to where his fat cock is sliding in and out of my wife's wet pussy, pulling and pushing the swollen lips in and out as he pistons into her.

"Get a wide shot," he sneers as he hands the phone back to me. "Get the whole picture."

I rotate the phone horizontally and take a few steps back, hoping he won't notice that my right hand is still hidden behind me. I extend that arm as if helping with my balance or feeling for any obstacles as I back up.

In the frame you can see all of Lance crouched over my wife's long, pale body. "Smile for the camera, baby," he coos. Chrissy twists her head, resting her right cheek on the pillow again and gives me, or the camera, the most lascivious smile I've ever seen.

Lance takes his left hand off her left hip and puts it on his own. He starts drawing almost all the way out of her. He obviously wants me to get a clear picture of his cock penetrating my wife.

After a few long, theatrical strokes he's back to the shorter strokes he'd been using to just mark time in his latest cheating conquest. For I have no doubt Chrissy is not the first married woman he's led astray. I just wonder if I'm getting the worst cuckolding.