Restoring The Balance - A Story Of Guilt, Submission And Adultery free porn video

The idea was wicked, so far from everything I had ever allowed myself to ponder that it left me breathless and wide-eyed. It was forbidden, crazy; if I was totally honest with myself, it was not something I should ever be contemplating. Yet there was this guilt that had wrapped itself around my heart like a wet, cold blanket and made my insides shiver, and I had been unable to shake it off.

So I had confessed what I had done, trembling with fear that I had ruined the most precious thing I had ever had in one thoughtless moment. And the first few days, and more importantly, nights, it had felt as if I had managed to do just that. As I had lain next to my husband, only two weeks after our honeymoon, and fought uselessly to fall asleep, unsatisfied, guilty, tearful, and as I had listened to the equally wakeful shifting of his body, I had feared the worst. “Patrick,” I had whispered, putting my hand on his arm, but he had turned away from me without words.

Two weeks ago, I had been ecstatic, returning from the perfect honeymoon in the Caribes, from two weeks of splashing in the warm sea, having romantic dinners and making love under a star-lit sky. But then Mark had happened, or better, my alcohol-infused and completely reckless idiocy had happened, and in the wake of our annual company summer party, I had allowed my co-worker to kiss me, to conquer my mouth with his tongue and let his hands roam underneath the fabric of my clothes. Only being startled by a door banging close by had saved me from allowing even more.

I hadn’t been able to carry the secret for long. After one long day and night, the shell around my burning guilt cracked, and Sunday morning, when we started breakfast, I confessed.

“Patrick?” My voice was thick, the syllables clinging to the insides of my mouth and not wanting to come out. “I…”

The worried, caring look he immediately sent me from these beautiful, watery-blue eyes below a mob of short, tousled, sun-streaked blonde hair buried itself like in my heart like a spear of ice. “Honey? What’s wrong?”

A choked sob escaped me. I covered my face in my hands. “Please don’t hate me!” I whimpered.

He had been about to get up and rush over to me to comfort me, but he froze.

“I’ve…” My chest constricted, but I couldn’t live with such a lie. “I’ve fucked up. God, I’m so sorry! Please don’t hate me!”

“Cassie?” he asked quietly, but suddenly, there was a hard edge in his voice. “What, exactly, did you fuck up? Look at me!”

I wiped the tears away. I was trembling. His gaze bore into mine, worried, questioning, full of that undeserved love, and it spilled out of me. How I’d had a few cocktails too many at the party. How I had suddenly found myself on the couch in the recreation room and snuggled up to Mark. How we had talked about work and colleagues, and how that talk had suddenly been riddled with compliments from him. How I had felt warm and flustered and enjoyed the closeness, and how I had allowed his greedy kisses and roaming hands without thought until the banging of the door had shaken my awareness awake.

His voice trembled with pain, and I hated myself. “So if the door hadn’t banged, you’d…”

“I don’t know!” I wailed, unable to lie. “Please, Patrick,” I repeated my mantra, “please don’t hate me!”

The look of anguish on his face almost killed me. He slowly rose from the chair, his breakfast untouched. “I’m going out.”

“Where,” I choked, “are you going?”

His steps halted, and for a second, everything was silent. “Fishing.” He left.

It hadn’t taken nearly long enough to pack the fishing gear when his car reversed down the driveway. I rocked back and forth on the kitchen chair, arms wrapped around my upper body, tears running down my cheeks, and cried silently, sure that I had destroyed everything my live was centered around in one single moment.

*

The following days were long and exhausting. We only talked if it was absolutely necessary. Patrick came home late from work and left early, and we both had dark rings around our eyes from exhaustion as one sleepless night followed the other.

“This can’t go on!” I declared, tear-streaked, staring at the shards of porcelain of the cup that had slipped my trembling hands and now lay in a huge puddle of coffee on the kitchen floor. “Patrick!”

He looked at me, weary, unfocused. I stumbled around the table and slipped to my knees, grabbing his hand with both of mine. “Patrick! Please! This is killing us both. I’ll do anything to make it up to your! I swear his will never, ever happen again! Please!”

My last plea was swallowed by a choked sob. I thought I saw a flicker of that compassionate love that had attracted me to him from the start in his eyes. But his jaw clenched.

“I’m…” He looked away. “I’m not sure we can fix this.” His eyes closed, and his hand squeezed mine painfully hard. I didn’t try to pull it away though. I deserved this, and so much more.

“I… Every time I look at you, I see his lips kiss you, see his hands touch you. You married me, and little more than two weeks later, you do that !” His hand shook in my grasp. “I tried…” His breath hitched. “I tried to forgive. But there’s this rage, this need to take revenge, to make you feel that helpless pain of betrayal you left me with tenfold in return.”

“Patrick! Please!” I whimpered. “I’ll do anything!”

“You think you would?” He stared hard at me, eyes full of accusation. “How do you think you would feel if I made out with another woman, If you knew that I kissed her, touched her, made love to her? How would you feel?”

“Hurt,” I confessed. “Fuck, it would tear my heart apart.” But in the dread of imagining it, a tiny flame of hope was kindled awake. I suddenly heard myself speaking from far away, “But if it is what you need, I will accept it.”

Both our breathes hitched. Had I really just said that? His eyes widened, and his look seemed to bore right into my mind.

“You would?”

“Yes!” I sobbed. “I love you, Patrick. I’ll do anything. I can’t lose you!”

“This is crazy,” he murmured to himself. “Fucking crazy!” But then a jolt raced through his body. He pulled away his hand, only to cup my cheeks and hold my head steadfast. “Anything?”

“Anything! Anything at all!”

“Even if I made you stay and watch? If I made love to another woman all night and you’d have to witness every single moment of it?”

I couldn’t speak. I swallowed hard, nodding as good as his strong grip allowed me to. Something in him had shifted, I realized, and I saw a fire burn behind his eyes that I had only seen in the throes of our lovemaking. There was still that betrayed rage flickering, but I could also see a primal arousal, a part of him I had only seen glimpses of. It unsettled me. And it flowed over me like hot silk. The power in his eyes, the force and determination in his look wrapped around me like a tight net.

His cock had become erect, a stiff, big flagpole at the front of his pajama pants that gave away his own excitement at the thought. It was more than just the need for revenge that drove him.

“Anything!” I declared, trying to suppress the tremolo in my voice. “Anything to make it up to you.”

I wanted to show him with action too. So far, I had always managed to get around giving him head. It was lewd and demeaning, introducing an inequality into sex that shouldn’t be there. Or that’s what I had thought. But now, kneeling next to him with all that guilt mixing with the shame and forbidden excitement, it somehow felt incredibly right. I pulled down the waistband of his pants with one hand and slowly leaned forward.

His eyes grew big, but then he caught on to my intentions and let go of my face.

He was rock hard. The tip was dark and swollen and glistening with a drop of pre-cum. The fantasy - no, the knowledge of this future depravity - was arousing him faster than I had ever managed on my own. I parted my lips and slid them over his silky cock-head. He groaned softly.

I ran my tongue along the ridge on its underside, and his breath shuddered. “Fuck!” he moaned. “I want you to invite Marietta for dinner on Friday.”

I froze. Marietta? My former best friend, the part-time model, the cock-tease whom I had parted ways with for flirting with my fiancé all the time? But he was right. She was the one friend who wouldn’t think twice about bedding my husband, or being bedded by him. I started twirling my tongue all around his cock, slowly bobbing up and down as I had seen others do when I watched them go at each other at these wild parties in my college days. He moaned again.

Yes, from Patrick’s perspective, Marietta was the perfect choice. I had thrown her out of the house when she had made the wine-addled confession that she wouldn’t mind a romp with Patrick. He knew that my jealousy of her would run knifes through my heart and that all the insecurities about my too-small breasts and too-wide bum would surface with force if I had to compare myself to her perfect shape.

His cock grew slick with spittle, and I bobbed further down, trying to relax my tongue and breath evenly through my nose as I had read. His hips started to twitch. I was doing it right.

“I want you to outdo yourself with the dinner,” he groaned, his breathing speeding up. “Set up a romantic candle-light dinner for two!”

I thought his cock was growing even stiffer in my mouth. More salty pre-cum covered my tongue. Fingers wrapped themselves in my hair and encouraged me to go faster and deeper. I fought not to choke. Saliva dribbled down my chin and along his shaft. This was messy and possessive - and sexy like hell.

I didn’t feel it coming. Suddenly, his hand pressed down hard, and his rod slid all the way into my mouth, past a gut-wrenching moment where it touched the back of my throat, but I swallowed in reflex and felt it slide deeper. My forehead touched his thigh, he growled his delight above me, and with hard jerks of his hips, he filled my throat with hot cum, spurt after spurt after spurt.

When he had spent himself and let go of my head, I gasped for air. A part of me felt used and cheap, but there was no denying the fluttery warmth between my thighs. Patrick was studying me, a look of bliss in his eyes, and my heart stumbled with happiness. As long as I could make him look this fulfilled, all wasn’t lost.

*

God, it had been awkward in the beginning. I had stammered and offered excuses for my jealousy, but Marietta had acted guarded and hesitant to accept my change of heart. Or, perhaps, she was consciously trying to make it hard for me. She had always had a petty streak.

“Please, Marietta,” I begged, ignoring the knot in my stomach. “We’d love to have you over for dinner on Friday. Patrick’s been asking about you all the time.”

“He has?” Her voice softened for the first time in our conversation, and I could hear the curiosity.

“Yes. He said he misses having you around.”

There was a short pause. “Okay. Should I bring anything?”

“Just yourself.”

“Just myself?” Suddenly, the quick-witted, lewd Marietta I had liked so much - when her jabs weren’t aimed at me, that is - was back, and she couldn’t resist. “No clothes?”

My cheeks heated up. She had no idea. “Only… only wear what you feel comfortable with.”

A moment of silence followed again. That kind of banter was so not me, and she knew it. “Cassie, Cassie,” she sing-songed, “that’s an awfully dangerous thing to say when you invite an unattached girl into a house with such a hunk of a man.”

She was testing me. My mind swirled. I couldn’t tell her outright what we had planned. My best bet was to try and play along. “You’re right, it is. It would be highly improper to have debauchery run rampant between our guest and my newly-wed husband.”

I hadn’t dared to hope it, but it shut her up. “I’ll be there at seven, then, Cassie,” she told me, and after a soft click, the beep of the busy signal greeted me.

That night, Patrick fucked me. It wasn’t lovemaking, it didn’t include any more foreplay than necessary. I was lying on my back already when he entered from the bathroom, and he pulled aside the cover, knelt down next to me and pulled my panties wordlessly down to my ankles.

“Did she agree?” he asked while his hand cupped my pubes and started to rub softly back and forth.

“She did.” Why did thinking back to the tense phone call add fuel to the tingles Patrick’s hand stirred awake?

“What did she say?” His middle finger parted my folds. I loved when he did that, slowly adding pressure until my juices came freely and coated his digit.

I blushed, but he probably couldn’t see that in the dim light of the bedside lamp. “At first, she let me sweat a bit. Then she joked about coming without clothes.”

“What did you tell her?” His finger was sliding quite easy already.

“To wear whatever little she’s comfortable with.” I moaned softly.

“And...” he prompted, tickling my pearl and making me gasp.

“She told me that saying that was dangerous, with a hunk like you.” My hips lifted slightly off the bed.

“And what did you say?” His breathing was speeding up as well.

“That it was. I said anything between you and her would be… improper.” He sucked in a shuddering breath and pushed against my entrance. I moaned.

“Bad Cassie,” he murmured, and the words set my cheeks aflame. “What time?”

“Seven.”

“Make sure everything is perfect.” He grabbed my ankles and bent my legs up. “That talk, and thinking about fucking Marietta, has made me quite hot,” he told me, and the breathless hitch in his voice confirmed it. Then he guided my legs back further and further, until I was folded almost all the way. My bum lifted off the bedsheet. We had never done this. It felt lewd. I could feel my pussy lips open.

He shuffled right in front of my spread pubes and pushed his cock against my slick entrance. “I need to fuck you.” His eyes glowed with lust. I knew that he was going to use me tonight. Right now, I wasn’t his beloved wife, I was still the cheater, the tramp.

And I was hot. “Fuck me!” I pleaded, and he didn’t let me tell him twice.

He pushed home with a single thrust, and his hips slapped loudly against my buttocks.

“Oh! Fuck!” I moaned. His cock seemed to fill me deeper than ever before.

“Fuck!” he grunted too, and then he started pounding me. My moans became a garbled mess of hitching breaths, and he grunted and moaned in ecstasy. My body shook and the bed creaked. The headboard thudded against the wall like a bass drum. His eyes narrowed, fluttered, and I started to sweat. It was carnal, intense, exhilarating - and then he pushed in hard, I felt his cock throb inside me, and his cum spurted into my womb with a mighty groan from his throat.

Then he pulled out. My pussy screamed in disappointment. I think I whimpered, but he guided my legs back down on the bed, gently turned me onto my side and spooned me from behind.

“Cassie,” he whispered, and I could already hear a hint of sleepiness in his voice.

Normally, he made sure that I received my please, worked through that desire to fall asleep all men appeared to be cursed with and gifted me with an intense orgasm through the second round. Not tonight.

“Will you do me a favor, Cassie?”

“Of course, honey.”

“I don’t want you to come until Friday night.”

My heart misstepped. “Not come?” I asked in a whisper.

“No. I want you horny. I know how high your sex drive is.” He wrapped his leg over mine and pulled me close, locking my arms in his embrace. “How do you think it will feel when I fuck Marietta and give her what you want so much?”

A soft tremble raced through my body. “Humiliating,” I confessed, barely audible.

“Mhmmm,” he whispered in my ear. Moments later, his breathing evened out and was accompanied by a soft snore.

My pussy clenched around nothing, unfulfilled, needy and trickling with both my husband’s cum and my own desires. It took me a lot longer to fall asleep.

*

The closer Friday came, the more devious ideas my husband had. I wanted to hate him for it, tried to not let these feelings deep inside me get stirred awake by his forceful treatment, but I failed. Each morning, I kneeled on the carpet in the entryway to send him off to work with his cock buried in my throat, embarrassed and thrilled, and I was still finishing swallowing his spunk when he tugged his softening tool away, closed the zipper and left with a satisfied grin.

I was busy all Friday, preparing an extravagant three-course menu, decorating the table in the living room with flowers and candles, polishing silverware and searching through the stack of CDs for the most romantic tunes.

Patrick was still finishing his shower and I had just put the last touches on the salad with roasted seafood and candied pumpkin seeds when the doorbell chimed. I was still in my every-day outfit of a thin, white tank-top and three-quarter length, pink, shiny leggings, all at Patrick’s orders and far from the way I normally let myself seen by guests. “We can’t have you look smarter than the guest of honor,” he had said, and that had been it.

My heart beat all the way up to my throat when I opened the door to let Marietta in. She was dressed to kill in a little black dress with sparkling, silvery seams that showed much of her perfect cleavage and blemishless thighs, and it was instantly obvious that wasn’t wearing a bra. She wore open-toed sandals with needle-thin heels and her dark hair, cut above her shoulders and held in place by elaborate lace bows, shone in the light. Her eyelids and lips were done in dark, seductive red.

“Marietta!” I gushed, Patricks admonishment to make her feel like a queen still ringing in my ear. “Oh my god. You look stunning! We’re so happy you could come! Here, let me hang your vest!” I picked the flimsy, black, knitted garment that was draped over her arm and placed it neatly on a hanger.

“Cassie?” She closed the door behind herself and took a step towards me. I felt my knees wobble for a second. She looked me up and down, then stared hard into my eyes. “Something is up with you.” She stepped closer.

I tried to back up, but my bum bumped against the narrow wardrobe. “I’m… just hoping you’ll enjoy the evening. I’ve been such a bitch to you.” I caught myself wringing my hands like a nervous teenager and hid them behind my back. My chest was heaving more than it should, but I couldn’t do anything about that.

Her eyes narrowed, and I swallowed. But then she smiled at me. “Very well. Lead the way.”

The timing was devastatingly perfect. We entered the living room at the same moment as Patrick pressed the play button on the stereo, clad in black trousers and a white shirt, the top three buttons undone to allow us to see his tan and looking good enough to eat. “Marietta!” he exclaimed joyfully, holding out his arms.

Marietta glided over to him, and I watched them hug and place tiny kisses on each other’s cheeks. I wouldn’t have minded that gesture so much in the past, but knowing what was ahead, envy already poked my insides.

“Please, take a seat. Cassie has outdone herself today,” he told her, taking her hand and leading her to one of the opposing high-backed chairs. It had started.

There was only the tiniest moment where surprise flickered over my friend’s face, then she melted in his touch, her eyes started to sparkle and she let herself be led to her seat. Like a perfect gentleman, he slid the chair under her, then stepped toward the table and lit the candles, nodding towards me. We had rehearsed that. I turned around and dimmed the light until the bulb was no match for the candles’ flames.

“This is… a bit unusual,” Marietta remarked softly, taking in the two sets of plates, silverware and glasses while my husband sat down opposite of her.

“But so are you, unusually beautiful and intelligent,” he charmed her, and my stomach clenched. “Cassie hasn’t been a good friend to you, so we both feel that you deserve some recompense.” He twirled a finger at me, low enough that it was hidden from my friend’s eyes by the table, and I sneaked back out and into the kitchen.

I added the dressing to the salad, drawing neat spirals of creamy white over it, then sprinkled finely cut fresh over it. As a last touch, I added a beautiful, edible red rose blossom. I picked up the plates with shaking fingers and carefully stepped back to the living room.

My husband chuckled, and Marietta giggled like a schoolgirl, leaning forward over the table as if hanging onto every word he said. Without doubt, she was giving him a show of her firm, big, bra-less tits.

I traipsed to her side and set the plate down in front her. “Enjoy,” I whispered with a lump in my throat, then made my way around the table, glad that my blush couldn’t be seen in the flickering semi-darkness.

“I was just saying that Marietta has never looked as beautiful as today,” Patrick told me when I served him his salad, “don’t you think so too?”

“Yes,” I confirmed, hoping that the jitters in my voice were only audible to my own ears. “I’ve never seen her this stunning, and she’s always beautiful.”

Patrick nodded, spearing a prawn with his fork. “Any man not falling instantly in love with such beauty would be a blind fool, don’t you think so too?”

I could see her eyebrows rise upwards in the corner of my eye. My breath wanted to hitch, but I clenched my hands behind my back and pushed down the jealousy. “Yes,” I gushed instead, almost overwhelmed when I heard the hated words flow so easily from my lips, “they would be fools.” A slap to my bum told me that I had done well enough. “I’ll prepare the main course, then. I hope you enjoy the salad.”

They had already stopped paying me any heed.

I came back fifteen minutes later to clear away the salad plates, and my knees started to tremble when I saw them both propped up on one elbow, looking deeply into each other’s eyes and the fingers of their free hand caressing each other’s. Patrick was telling a story about a work trip to Brazil and a poor colleague whose suitcase got swapped for that of a transgendered carnival dancer, and Marietta giggled with delight, oblivious to my presence.

I brought out the main course, salmon with herb crust, buttered dwarf potatoes that had taken me more than an hour to peel, and a colorfully woven cloud of short-fried Julienne vegetables. When I sat the plate down in front of Marietta, she fanned the steam to her and sighed with a smile. “That smells great, Cassie. I didn’t know you could cook so well.”

I grinned at the praise. But then she held up the slightly crinkled linen napkin, reminding me of my task of being the waitress for tonight. I spread it out on her lap, then headed over to serve my husband. When I picked up the napkin and leaned forward, I froze.

A quick look to the side told me that Marietta was watching me intently, a gleeful grin on her lips. She had finally grasped the enormity of what was going on and upped the game. There, between my husband’s thighs, was her naked foot with the well-manicured, perfect toes that glistened shiny red, its balls rubbing up and down over the impressive bulge at the front of Patrick's trousers.

I wanted to cry out in jealous rage. Patrick didn’t even try to contain the lustful moan that brushed my neck while I spread the napkin over his lap and my friend’s foot. It was demeaning and hurtful and…

I hurried back into the kitchen, catching myself on the edge of the counter and breathing as if I had run a marathon.

...erotic. Fuck! I wanted to scream and rage, throw dishes against the wall and wail in frustration, because together with that tightening grasp around my heart came the stirring of heated moisture between my thighs. Fuck! I wasn’t sure if I had screamed that aloud, or just thought it, and I stilled for a minute. If they had heard it, they gave no sign though, whispering sweet nothings at each other instead.

I gave them more than enough time to finish the course, but if I was honest with myself, I was trying to push back the next step of my humiliation as long as possible. Finally, I could do so no more.

Marietta was sitting on Patrick's lap, her arms around his neck and the hem of her skirt bunched up around the tops of her thighs. That was where my husband’s hand was currently, caressing that perfect, tight, toned skin while they lost themselves in each other's eyes. They didn’t even twitch while I picked up the plates and cutlery, and just before I turned around to exit with the dirty dishes, I saw Marietta lean in close for a kiss.

They came up for air when I entered again. Patrick’s face bore the unmistakable smears of her lipstick, and he gestured to me while she sucked hungrily on his neck. “Just put both down here. If you don’t mind the little wait, you can sit down in the free chair.”

The blood rushed in my ears, but I did that. I sat and watched as they kissed and fed each other the tiny, alcohol-dipped brownies with their fingers, licking, teasing, lewd and unashamed. My lips trembled when I watched on as Patrick held up a piece for her to snatch with her lips, only to lift his hand and hold it further back so she had to arch her back and tilt back her head.

They were so beautiful together, like perfect lovers, and the flickering light of the candles made the scene so soft and intimate. I didn’t want to feel that, didn’t want to become a passive participant in their joyful play, but my heartbeat sped up and my fingers grew sweaty.

“Oops!” My husband declared in false startlement, letting the piece drop and land atop Marietta’s cleavage, drawing a giggle from her.

“Now you’ve smudged chocolate on my breast!” she complained, still giggling.

“I’m so sorry,” Patrick told her. “I’ll clean it up.” He bent down, and then his tongue licked over the top of her breast.

She moaned softly, getting louder when his lips places hot kisses over the smooth skin.

A few seconds later, she gently pushed his head away. I watched with morbid fascination as she pushed the strap of her dress over her shoulder, baring one perfect, creamy breast to the world without the tiniest hint of shame. Then she reached out, picked up another brownie, and my eyes went wide when she smashed it against her nipple, smearing it with the soft chocolate and not caring about the crumbs that rained over their laps and onto the floor.

My husband’s face started to tremble with heated lust. His eyes blazed, and his lips lunged at the brown, smeared nipple. He sucked and licked like possessed, and Marietta’s moans filled the room. “I need you…” she gasped, the fingers of one hand buried into Patrick’s hair and mashing his face into her breast, “...to fuck me. Now!”

He growled into her breast, then they were both standing and heading to the door. I trembled all over. It was really going to happen! I blew out the candles, needing a few tries because my breath didn’t want to obey me, then I hurried after them, up the stairs and into our bedroom, just in time to find Marietta clap her hands together in joyous delight.

“Oh my god!” she gushed. “This is so romantic.”

And it was. I had put my best lines on, sparkling, soft sheets with threads in silver and gold, and I had strewn rose petals over it and formed both of their names with them. The two soft lamps on the walls gave all the light needed, giving it a cozy flair, and I had almost cried when I had lit the sweet incense that now hung mystically and tantalizing in the air.

“Oh god! I love you!” she declared, spinning around and kissing my husband hungrily, unaware of the icy stabs she sent through my heart.

Patrick cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her back hard, only coming up for air for a moment to snap, “Cassie, undress us.”

My fingers shook. Shame broke over my heart like waves in a mighty storm, and still there was a part in me that thrived with every moan and gasp and every slurping, sloppy moment of their heated kiss. I couldn’t escape the passion that filled their with electricity, not even when I sunk to my knees and pushed down Patrick’s trousers; not even even when I pulled down his shorts and his big, swollen cock sprung free.

They never stopped kissing and fondling each other. Not while I gently slid the other strap over Marietta’s shoulder, guided the pretty dress down her body and helped her step out of it. Not when I removed her panties, a black, lacy, mostly see-through, ornamented and expensive work of art.

They stumbled towards the bed, and Marietta toppled onto her back, giggling and moaning. She spread her legs wide, pulling them up, an unmistakable invitation, and god did she look beautiful. “Fuck me,” she growled, “Stick that beautiful monster in my cunt! Let me show you what it means to fuck a real woman!”

Her words hit me like a slap. My chest heaved. Patrick pushed her further up the bed, then lowered his body over hers. I wanted to rip my gaze away, cover my eyes with my hands, but something made me watch, frozen to the spot, a desperate sob waiting to tumble over my lips and my body’s betrayal trickling hot and wet down my thighs.

“Cassie! Guide my cock into her!” The room seemed to spin for a moment. He didn’t want me to do that? “Get to it!” he growled, and I stepped closer on wooden legs, reached out with one clumsy hand and guided his hot, swollen cock to her entrance.

“Oh god!” he grunted, driving himself inside her. His balls brushed over my palm, and I pulled it back as if stung.

“Yes!” Marietta shouted in triumph, then her voice became a mixture of moans and grunts. Slaps and moans filled the air, and Marietta’s pretty face contorted in delirious pleasure. “Yes!” she cried. “Fuck me hard! Give it too me!”

They fucked like rabbits, and my friend had apparently already gotten so turned on that she came before my husband, already writhing under him in the throes of her climax when he stiffened and filled her with his cum.

But they weren’t done. After a while of soft cuddling, Marietta picked up a cushion and propped herself up against the headboard. She called for Patrick to lean back against her between her splayed legs and started to caress his muscled chest. Her eyes, though, were fixed on me.

“He’s a wonderful lover, isn’t he?” she asked, a dreamy smile on her lips.

“Yes, he is,” I answered somewhat choked.

“I think I deserve another round, don’t I?” She knew she had my heart in her grip, and she squeezed hard.

“Yes, you do.”

“Then you should be a helpful wife and get your husband ready for me again, don’t you?”

‘No!’ I wanted to shout. ‘I shouldn’t! He should be making love to me, not you. He is my husband! I love him!’ Instead, I climbed onto the bed and reached out for his softened, glistening cock while he watched me with curious delight.

“No!” Marietta commanded sharply, and my arm froze halfway through the motion. “Use your mouth. It’s much softer and nicer.”

“But,” I protested, “it’s been…” My skin exploded with heat, and I couldn’t even ponder finishing the sentence.

It didn’t matter. “...in my cunt? Fucking your best friend? That shouldn’t matter to a good little wife, should it? Tell me, what does your husband prefer? Your hand or your lips?”

I looked towards Patrick for help, but there was none forthcoming. The gleam in his eyes made a shiver dance over my spine. “You heard her,” he growled. “Be a good wife. Clean her cunt juice from my cock and get it nice and hard for her again, so I can fuck her lovely, tight pussy again.”

I froze. This was so much more than what I had bargained for. This wasn’t just watching them have sex anymore; they were both determined to make me a willing, active participant, and Patrick knew that I had never ever had any lesbian urges. Tasting another woman’s juices, that slimy, slick fluid still warm from her snatch, was icky and forbidden and…

...coated my tongue with a musky, heady taste that drove spears of humiliation through my chest and made my pussy clench hard. Without realizing it, and while I was still struggling with the enormity of such an action, my body had once more betrayed me and succumbed to the order. I found myself on my stomach between my husband’s legs with his flaccid cock in my mouth, and I could already feel the first gentle stirrings back to life.

Marietta whispered something into his ear, and he chuckled, bent his head back and kissed her deeply.

“Good girl,” he praised, stroking my hair, and the gesture and words did something wicked to my pussy. “If you continue being this good, I’ll let you lick my cum right from her pussy. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

I shook my head softly, as good as my awkward position allowed, while my tongue roamed all over his growing manhood.

“No? It doesn’t matter. It would be shame to waste my cum. Oh yes… keep flicking the tip of your tongue right there… yes, just like this! It doesn’t matter. You’ll be doing it anyway.”

His cock was growing hard again, and too big to keep it all in my mouth. I softly started to bob up and down while it swelled further.

Marietta whispered again, this time a little longer, and finished with a giggle again. Patrick nodded, and their tongues warred with each other’s for a minute.

“That’s enough.” Marietta ordered. “Lie on your back right where you are.”

Hesitantly, I complied. They shuffled around behind me, then, suddenly, Marietta crawled over me, moving forward until her spread knees were framing my head and the scent of her close-by, swollen and wet pussy filled my nose, the aroma of sex heady and infuriatingly arousing.

I watched with desperation as my husband’s cock parted her pussy lips and slipped into the moist, rosy folds of my friend. I saw her breasts jiggle when she slowly began to rock back and forth on his stiff rod. This time, they started slowly, building their way up, enjoying every moment of their lovemaking. The moans, though, were no less intense, and for a short, depraved second, I pondered filling my own pussy with my fingers and join their lust’s concert.

I almost sobbed with humiliation when a string of sticky juice dripped from Marietta’s aroused pussy and landed on my cheek. They were oblivious to it though, lost in the dance of their bodies, moaning, grunting, thighs slapping together. At one point, her arms gave way and got to rest on my lower tummy, touches that made me feel uncomfortable and horny.

She came once, shouting garbled nonsense, and her body trembled and shook, only held in position by Patrick’s strong hands, and then once more only a minute later, quickly followed by my husband.

They collapsed on top of me, spent, Patrick’s cock still buried in her pussy which was touching my chin, and his balls rested on my lips. I felt like an object, cheap, unnoticed - and suddenly so horny that I wanted to cry.

I didn’t understand it. While the two sweaty bodies that lay atop me and pressed my into mattress tried to get back their breaths, I wondered what was happening with me. Gradually, step by step, the horror and misgivings I had initially felt had been replaced with an almost unbearable need to please. The jealousy, while still there, had been tainted with an adoration for their loving intimacy.

Patrick pulled himself out with a soft grown and rolled off of Marietta. She, in turn, got back up on her knees, and I saw her look down at me face with a delighted grin framed by sticky, tousled hair. She slowly righted herself, then crawled off me too. I breathed a sigh of relief.

It was too soon. She had only turned around so she was facing the other way, and now her feet were next to my ears, her toes touching my collarbones, and she grinned wickedly, licking her lips.

“Time for dessert,” she sing-songed.

I clenched my lips shut, shaking my head and staring up at her with wide eyes.

“Come on,” my husband urged from the side, “don’t be a spoilsport. Open wide and let your friend give you my cum. You can see how much she wants that.”

And I could. She lusted, even hungered for this last humiliation, and it was far more than my act of cheating had deserved, I was sure about that. Her pussy inched closer, and she spread her petals with one hand. I opened my mouth and my lips touched her folds; for the first time in my live, they touched at a pussy at all. My skin burnt, and I wiggled my tongue inside her tight channel and fished for my husbands spunk between hot, slick, velvety walls.

Marietta gasped, the gasp turning into a guttural moan. “Oh my god,” she whispered, “she’s really doing it! The slut is really sucking your cum from my snatch.” Her fingers brushed my cheek while she stared down in heated disbelief, and I stared back in wide-eyed, burning humiliation and tried to reach deeper. Her hips started to rock, only slightly at first, but then faster and faster, until she was rubbing her pussy all over my face, coating it with her juice and my husband’s spunk.

She came, for the fourth time that night, drenching my cheeks with her juices, crying out in pleasure. Then she collapsed to the side and curled up into a ball, shivering and moaning.

*

I had feared that Marietta would stay the whole night, but she had something planned for Saturday morning and left after a long shower and more soft kisses from my husband. We were both spent, he bodily and I emotionally. I only cleaned up the most urgent things, put the last dirty plates in the dishwasher and joined Patrick in bed.

I sighed dreamily when he spooned me and pulled me tight.

We slept almost until noon. I woke up when Patrick stirred next to me, and I blinked groggily, noticing him smile softly down at me. When he noticed that my eyes had opened, he leaned in and kissed me softly. “Good morning, honey.”

“Mmmm,” I moaned into his mouth, my heart melting and fluttering. “Am I forgiven?” I asked softly, pleadingly, and felt the corners of his mouth quirk up.

“Yes. Yes, you are forgiven,” he ensured me and kissed me once more.

“Do you think…” I blushed. Together with the rest of my body, my unfulfilled needs had woken up as well. “Do you think you could make love to your wife?”

He grinned mischievously, that lopsided smile with the gleam in his eyes that I loved so much. “Yes,” he said after a short pause, “yes, I think that could be arranged. I want you on top, though.”

“I’d like that,” I told him with a grin of my own, pushing him over and swinging my body astride his. His cock appeared to be just as impatient as my pussy, and I grabbed it tightly and rubbed it against my already moistening folds, eliciting a pleased groan.

Then I let myself slide down on his hardness, feeling my walls stretch to accommodate his girth. “God,” I sighed, “this feels so good!”

“It does, luv. Rotate your hips, slowly… oh yes, just like this.”

Our breathing became faster, and our sighs turned into moans. Suddenly, his hands clenched around my hips and held me in place. I froze.

“You enjoyed yourself a lot yesterday, didn’t you?”

I blushed madly. There was nothing to lessen the effect in the bright light of the midday sun streaming in through the windows. I couldn’t look into his eyes and turned my head to the side. “Please,” I whimpered. “You said you had forgiven me.”

“I have.” His thumbs stroked my tummy just inside of my hips. He knew how sensitive I was there, and the tickling feeling went straight into my pussy. “I want to do it again, though.”

“Again?” I choked.

“Yes.” He nodded. “I want to fuck Marietta again.” His hands roamed up my body and began to knead my breasts. “I want to fuck her again while you watch.” He pinched my nipples and my back arched in pleasure. “I thought, perhaps I could convince her to let me fuck her up the bum. She has such a pretty ass. And afterwards, you could clean her up again.”

“Clean…” my voice broke and my eyes got huge. But there was no mistaking the reason when my pussy clenched hard around his cock, once, twice, three times in succession, driving a gasp from my throat.

I started to fuck myself on his cock. It had never felt this intense before. His eyes smoldered with passion, and I could only surmise that mine did too.

“Ask me,” he suddenly gasped. “Beg me!”

I stared hard at him. “Pervert,” I hissed and lifted my hips until only the head of his cock was in my pussy. “Please, fuck her again!” I let my weight fall, driving myself down on his rod and the breath out of both of us.

“Fuck, yes!” he grunted.

“Please stick your cock up her ass,” I pleaded while I lifted myself again, “and cum inside her!” I slid down hard again. “Please let me lick and suck your spunk from her ass!” I couldn’t go this slow any longer and started to ride him. My loins burned with delicious, heated pleasure. And then that heat shot up like geyser and burned away the last shreds of morality I was clinging onto. His hips slapped against my butt and I was almost toppling over the edge of pleasure. My breathing became labored, broken by moans and gasps, and my mouth voiced the deepest, darkest secret I had. “Embarrass me. Shame me. Fuck, yes, oh god! Do anything you want!”

I came gloriously. My walls contracted in waves, milking his cock, and he couldn’t hold back either. He spurted load after load inside, more than he had ever before, and I toppled forward. His strong hands caught me and our lips locked in a blissful, sloppy kiss.

“I want you to invite her again, for next weekend,” Patrick told me, and I snuggled into his side, trembling softly and promising that I would.

* *

My head rested in the crook of his shoulder, one leg was splayed over his, and my fingers traced idle circles on his chest. “Patrick?” I asked softly, knowing that he wasn’t sleeping.

“Yes, luv?”

“Do you love me?”

He caught one of my hands and brought it to his lips, where he kissed it softly on the palm. “Of course I do, very much so.”

“And I love you,” I whispered. “That’s why I don’t understand all this.” We were both silent. Despite my inner turmoil, I felt strangely content.

After a minute, he spoke. “I think I do. I have always known that there was this part in me that loves power. Sometimes it is like an aphrodisiac, and the power I felt...” His thumb caressed my cheek. “...the power you gifted me with last night was almost overwhelming. And you…” He smiled down lovingly. “...you appear to have a rather strong submissive part that wants to do everything to please me, and one that can turn shame into pleasure.”

“It’s so embarrassing,” I whispered.

“Yes, it is,” he answered quietly, but I thought I heard a bit of amusement in his voice. “And to me, it’s incredibly beautiful.”

“Really?” I asked. “Beautiful?”

“Yes,” he told me, kissing my head, “because otherwise, you couldn’t gift me with that power. You’re special.”

My chest swelled. I snuggled into his embrace an sighed contentedly. I think we both dozed off for a while.

When I woke again, another question was on the tip of my tongue, and I couldn’t avoid it. “Patrick?”

“Yes, luv?” There was definitely some amusement now.

“Do you love Marietta?”

The pause before he answered made my heart clench, but to my relief, he said, “No. No, I don’t think I love her.” But then he added, “But I don’t think it would take much to do so. Yes, I think I’m already falling for her.”

My breath hitched. For a moment, I thought I might cry. But something wicked and devious burst free in my chest and possessed me. My hands rubbed down over his tummy, and I could feel his muscles tremble when my fingers neared his pubes. “She’s very beautiful. Such firm tits and long legs. Her whole body is a man’s dream. And she’s clever too, and strong-willed. Don’t you think?” My hand touched his cock, which was standing proudly upright.

Patrick took in a hissing breath. “Minx,” he whispered between clenched teeth when I started to rub up and down his shaft. “Yes, she’s absolutely gorgeous.” he agreed.

I rubbed faster. “You could never get enough of making love to her,” I whispered into his ear, gripping him hard and jacking him off as fast as I could.

“Fuck, no I couldn’t!” he moaned, and his trembling hips lifted from the bed. “What are you…”

“Hush,” I told him, shutting him up. “You’d let her do anything to me that she wants to, if it made her happy, wouldn’t you?” His breath was flying and I could feel his racing heartbeat even in his cock. “When I call her later, should I tell her that you love her?”

He came, shooting load after load from his throbbing cock, the first spurt staining the headboard, the next few landing on his chest. The whole bed shook with each jerk of his hips, and he groaned in pleasure. I proudly milked the last few drops from his cock, feeling it wilt in my hands, and leaned over him to clean up the mess with my tongue. Yes, there was definitely power to be found in the most unexpected ways.

A wicked thought blossomed in my mind while I followed my husband into his exhausted sleep. Our house was much closer to Marietta’s work than her flat. Her moving in would be a lovely surprise for Patrick. Yes, it was a wicked thought to ponder.