The apartment smells of the faint lavender candle Cathy lights when she wants to pretend we’re still romantic. We live on the third floor of a narrow building in De Pijp, the kind of place where the stairs creak and the windows rattle when the trams pass. It’s comfortable. Six years married, both of us thirty-two, jobs that pay the rent and leave enough for weekend trips, but the bedroom has become polite. Efficient. We still fuck, sure, but it’s the sex of people who know each other’s rhythms so well the thrill is gone.
It started again on a Thursday in late October. Rain tapped the glass while we lay under the duvet, phones glowing. Cathy turned onto her side, propped her head on her hand, and asked the question that had been circling us for months.
“What if we try to involve someone else? Go to a club or so?”
Her voice was soft, almost casual, the way she asks if I want the last slice of pizza. I felt my stomach drop and lift at the same time.
I didn’t answer right away. I stared at the ceiling, tracing the crack that runs from the light fixture toward the wall. Then I said, “I’ve thought about it.”
She waited.
“More than thought,” I admitted. “I’ve jerked off to the idea. You with another man. Older, maybe. You and him while I sit there. Hard. Watching.”
She exhaled slowly. “God, Matt.”
Her hand slid under the covers and found me already half-erect. She didn’t stroke, just held. The warmth of her palm made the confession feel less dangerous.
“I like the thought of being desired so much that I forget you’re even in the room,” she said. “But I also like you in the room. Watching. Knowing you’re aching because I’m giving myself to him.”
We talked for hours that night. Then the next. Then every night for a week. The fantasies sharpened. We gave the man a shape: older, experienced, but well-groomed. We named the feelings. Submission for both of us. Her thrill at being claimed, mine at being erased for a while. Jealousy as fuel.
By the second week, we were searching discreet forums on encrypted browsers. Amsterdam has a scene if you know where to look. One post caught us: a private event in a canal-side club, cuckolding theme, high-end crowd, strict vetting. STI results uploaded in advance, male entrance by referral only. The photos showed chandeliers, velvet sofas, people in elegant evening wear rather than latex and fishnets. It looked expensive. Controlled. Safe enough to feel dangerous.
We debated for three days. I kept circling back to the same fears, but also came back to the same website again and again.
“What if I can’t handle it?” I asked her on Sunday morning while we drank coffee at the kitchen counter. “What if seeing you with someone makes me hate myself? Or hate you?”
Cathy set her mug down. “Then we stop. We’ve got words. Yellow to slow down, red to end it. Nothing we both say yes to at the moment. That’s the rule we don’t break.”
I nodded, but the knot in my chest didn’t loosen.
She reached across the counter and touched my wrist. “This isn’t about replacing you. It’s about feeling alive together. We’ve been coasting. I want to feel wanted so badly it hurts, and I want you to feel that too. Because when we come home, it’s still us.”
Her eyes were steady. I believed her. Mostly.
We ordered outfits the following Tuesday. Cathy spent hours on different fashion and lingerie sites, adding and removing items from the carts. When the packages arrived she finally settled on a black dress, slinky, mid-thigh, with sheer mesh panels over the ribs and decolletage that let the black lace bra underneath peek through. Strappy high heels, four inches. She tried it on in the bedroom while I sat on the edge of the bed.
She turned slowly. The fabric clung to her hips and ass, the hem high enough that a wrong move would show the lace edge of her panties. She looked expensive. Fuckable. Like someone every man would notice and want to fuck.
“You like it?” she asked.
I swallowed. “I like it too much.”
She smiled, small and knowing, then stepped between my knees. “Your turn.”
I’d already bought dark charcoal slacks and a white button-down left open at the collar, sleeves rolled to the forearms. No tie. I wanted to look put-together but not stiff. Approachable. The kind of man who might stand quietly in the corner while his wife gets taken apart.
Friday evening we stood in front of the full-length mirror in the hallway. Cathy smoothed her dress, adjusted a strap. I tucked my shirt in again, untucked it, then left it. My pulse thudded in my throat.
“You ready?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “But I want to go.”
She took my hand. Her fingers were cool. Mine were damp.
We locked the door, walked down the creaking stairs, and stepped into the wet Amsterdam night. A taxi waited at the curb, headlights cutting through the drizzle. The driver glanced at us in the rearview as we slid into the backseat. Cathy’s dress rode up slightly when she crossed her legs. I stared at the exposed skin of her thigh until she noticed and squeezed my knee.
The club was twenty minutes away, tucked along the Herengracht. Old stone, tall windows, ironwork balconies. From the outside, it looked like every other grand canal house. Inside, I already knew, everything would change.
I paid the driver, helped Cathy out. Her heels clicked on the wet cobblestones. We climbed the steps together. The heavy door opened after we knocked.
A woman in her mid-fifties stood there. Tall, silver-streaked hair swept into a loose chignon, black silk blouse and tailored trousers. She smiled like she had been expecting us all along.
“Welcome,” she said. “I’m Eleanor. You must be Matt and Cathy.”
I felt the first real jolt of exposure. She knew our names. She knew why we were here.
And we were about to step inside.
Eleanor stepped aside to let us enter, her smile calm and practiced. The foyer opened wide beneath a crystal chandelier that threw soft prisms across marble floors. The air carried sandalwood and a faint trace of expensive perfume. She closed the door behind us with a quiet click that felt final.
“First time here?” she asked, though her tone made it clear she already knew the answer.
Cathy nodded. “Yes. We read the guidelines carefully.”
“Good,” Eleanor said. “Most people don’t. Come, I’ll show you around before things begin properly.”
She led us through an arched doorway into the main hall. The space felt more like a private gallery than a party venue, high ceilings, dark wood paneling, oil paintings of Dutch masters on the walls. Low couches and ottomans were arranged in loose clusters, some occupied already by couples and singles in evening wear. A few men in dress shirts, women in silk slips or sheer dresses that caught the candlelight. No one looked rushed. No one looked awkward.
Ambient music drifted from hidden speakers, slow jazz with a deep bass line that pulsed under the skin. The lighting stayed dim, warm amber from sconces and table lamps, leaving faces half in shadow. It created the illusion of privacy even when bodies were only meters apart.
Eleanor walked with easy authority, gesturing as she spoke. “This is the social area. People mingle, talk, decide what they want. Through there…” she nodded toward a corridor lined with heavy velvet curtains “…are the lounges and private rooms. Observation areas have one-way glass so you can watch without being watched, unless you choose otherwise. Everything is consensual. Always.”
She paused at a small alcove where a table held stacks of clipboards and small black boxes. “We require STI results no older than two weeks, uploaded before arrival. You’ve both done that, yes?”
“We have,” I said. My voice sounded thinner than I wanted.
She smiled again, small and approving. “Excellent. No pressure to participate. You can watch, talk, leave at any time. Respect boundaries. Safe words are universal here: yellow to pause, red to stop completely. If anyone ignores that, security removes them. No second chances.”
Cathy shifted closer to me. Her hand brushed mine, fingers cool against my palm.
Eleanor picked up two slim velvet pouches from the table. “Now the bracelets. They help everyone communicate without words. Green means open to play. Blue means submissive, voyeur or cuckold interest, watching, not necessarily joining. Red means dominant. You can mix if your dynamic allows. Glow is low enough not to blind anyone, but bright enough in the dark to signal clearly.”
She opened the pouches. Inside were thin glowsticks, like the ones they hand out at music festivals.
Cathy looked at me. “Green and blue for both of us?”
I swallowed. “Yeah. That feels right.”
We each chose two bands, green and blue. Eleanor bent them and shook them to activate them before she fastened them. Cathy’s first, then mine. The bracelet settled against my wrist like a cool promise. When I moved my arm the glow caught the edge of my cuff, bright and unignorable.
It felt like wearing my fantasies on the outside. Anyone who glanced at my wrist would know exactly what I wanted, or what I thought I wanted. The vulnerability hit harder than I expected. My stomach twisted with a mix of shame and excitement.
Eleanor watched us adjust the bands. “If you need to change them, come to me or one of the monitors. Otherwise, they stay on.”
She led us a few steps farther into the hall. A couple sat on a nearby sofa, the woman perched on the man’s lap, his hand resting high on her thigh. Her bracelet glowed red. His was blue. Neither spoke. They simply watched the room together, content in their roles.
Across from them, two men in dark suits stood close to a woman in a crimson dress. One leaned in to murmur something; she laughed softly, her green bracelet catching the light as she touched his arm.
I stared longer than I meant to. My mind supplied the rest: her on her knees, one of them guiding her head while the other watched from a chair. The image lodged in my chest, sharp and hot. Jealousy flickered, not for her, but for the ease they had, the certainty.
Cathy’s breath caught beside me. She was watching the same scene. Her fingers tightened on my sleeve.
“See something you like?” Eleanor asked quietly.
Cathy flushed. “It’s… intense.”
“It is,” Eleanor agreed. “That’s why we keep the structure tight. Desire needs edges or it spills everywhere.”
She glanced around the room once more, then back at us. “Take your time. Mingle when you’re ready. The themed portion starts in about forty minutes, cuckolding focus tonight, so expect more structured play. If you need anything, find me. I’ll be circulating.”
She touched Cathy’s elbow lightly, a gesture that felt both maternal and possessive, then moved away toward another new arrival.
We stood there for a moment, bracelets glowing softly against our skin. The music swelled, the bass vibrating through the floor. Bodies shifted in the low light, conversations murmured, laughter rose and fell.
I looked at Cathy. Her eyes were bright, pupils wide. She bit her lower lip the way she does when she’s nervous and turned on at once.
“Still okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. You?”
My throat felt dry. “I think so.”
But the glow on my wrist kept pulsing, steady and accusing, reminding me that soon enough we would find out.
The ambient jazz shifted to something slower, heavier, as if the room itself decided the night had moved past introductions. People began to circulate with purpose, couples drifting toward the corridors, singles scanning the crowd with quiet intent. Our bracelets glowed steadily against our wrists, green and blue threads of light that marked us like badges.
Cathy and I stayed near the edge of the main hall at first, sipping sparkling water from tall glasses Eleanor had pressed into our hands. The ice clinked softly. Neither of us spoke much. We watched instead. A woman with a red bracelet led two men toward a curtained doorway; one followed with his head lowered, the other grinned like he owned the night. Cathy’s breathing stayed shallow beside me. I could feel the heat coming off her skin.
Eleanor appeared again without warning, gliding through the crowd like she owned every inch of the space. She carried a fresh glass of champagne and offered it to Cathy with a small nod.
“Settling in?” she asked.
Cathy took the glass. “Trying to.”
Eleanor’s gaze flicked between us, then settled on someone across the room. “There’s someone you might enjoy meeting. He’s good with new couples, patient, but direct. Come.”
She didn’t wait for agreement. We followed her through the crowd to a low leather sofa near one of the tall windows. A man sat there alone, legs crossed, one arm draped along the backrest. Late fifties, silver hair cropped close, broad shoulders filling out a charcoal suit. His posture was relaxed, but the way he tracked our approach made it clear he had already noticed us.
“Victor,” Eleanor said, voice warm. “These are Matt and Cathy. First time.”
Victor stood. He was taller than I expected, easily 1.90m, with the solid build of someone who still lifted weights regularly. His handshake was firm, dry, lingering a second longer than necessary when he took Cathy’s hand.
“Pleasure,” he said. His voice carried a low rumble, the kind that vibrates in your chest. “Eleanor tells me you’re exploring.”
Cathy smiled, small but genuine. “Something like that.”
He gestured to the sofa. “Sit. Please.”
We sat. Victor got settled between us before we sat down. The arrangement looked accidental. I knew it wasn’t.
He leaned back and studied our bracelets. “Green and blue. Both of you open, but watchful. That’s a beautiful combination.”
Cathy laughed softly. “We’re figuring it out.”
Victor’s eyes stayed on her. “You look like you already know what you want. Just need someone to help you say it out loud.”
The compliment landed bold, direct. Cathy’s cheeks colored, but she didn’t look away. I felt the first real twist in my gut, excitement laced with something sharper.
Victor turned to me then, gaze steady. “And you, Matt? You’re here to watch her bloom, yes?”
I nodded once. Words stuck somewhere behind my tongue.
He smiled, slow and knowing. “Good. Honesty is rare.”
Conversation flowed easily after that, surface questions about how we found the event, what drew us to the theme. Victor listened more than he spoke, but every time Cathy answered he leaned a fraction closer, eyes locked on hers. When she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear he watched the motion like it meant something. His pushiness was subtle at first, wrapped in charm, but unmistakable. He complimented the way her dress caught the light, or how the sheer panels hinted at what lay beneath.
“You wear submission well,” he told her after a pause. “It’s in the way you react to my questions and how you both seem to enjoy me guiding the conversation.”
Cathy’s lips parted. She glanced at me, quick and searching. I felt my pulse in my throat.
Victor didn’t miss it. “He’s watching,” he said to her. “He likes this. Don’t you, Matt?”
Heat flooded my face. “Yes.”
The word came out quieter than I intended.
Victor’s smile widened. “Then let’s test the waters. Nothing heavy. Just a small dare to see how it feels.”
He leaned back, relaxed again. “Cathy, whisper one secret fantasy into my ear. The one you’ve never said aloud, even to him. Matt watches from the other side. No touching. Just words.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. Cathy looked at me again, eyes wide but bright. She waited.
I swallowed hard. “Okay.”
She thought about it for a few seconds. He tilted his head toward her. She bent close, lips near his ear. I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw the way her breath moved the fine hair at his temple, the way his eyelids lowered for a second as if savoring it. When she pulled back her face was flushed, lips parted.
Victor exhaled slowly. “Beautiful.”
He looked at me. “Your turn to enjoy this feeling the first time.”
We moved then, almost without discussion, to a smaller semi-private lounge down the corridor. The space was dimmer, two low armchairs, a velvet settee, a single lamp casting long shadows. A heavy curtain separated it from the hall, muffling sound but not blocking it entirely.
Victor sat on the settee. Cathy and I took the armchairs facing him. He studied us both for a long moment.
“Another dare,” he said. “Cathy, slip off the bra under that dress. Slow.”
Cathy hesitated only a second. Her fingers went to the thin straps at her shoulders, then reached behind to unhook. The black lace bra slid down her arms. She folded it neatly and set it on the table between us. Her nipples pressed against the panels of the dress, visible now in the low light.
Victor nodded approval. “Perfect.”
Then he looked at me. “Matt. Earn it back. Come here, kneel and kiss my hand.”
The command landed like a stone in still water. I felt every muscle lock, then release. My legs moved before my mind caught up. I stood, crossed the small space, and knelt in front of him. He extended his right hand, palm down. The skin was warm, faintly callused. I pressed my lips to his hand, brief, deliberate.
Submission surged through me, hot and dizzying. Unease followed right behind it, sharp enough to make my stomach clench. I stayed there a second longer than necessary, tasting salt and skin, then sat back on my feet.
Victor’s voice stayed low. “Good boy.”
Cathy watched us both, breathing shallow.
Victor leaned forward. “We’re just beginning.”
The curtain rustled as someone passed in the corridor. Music throbbed faintly through the walls. I looked at Cathy. Her eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide.
I wanted to ask if she was still with me.
I wanted to beg her to stop.
Instead I stayed silent, bracelet glowing, heart hammering, already deeper than I knew how to climb out.
My knees still tingled from kneeling on the carpet. Cathy’s bra lay folded on the low table like an accusation. Victor sat back on the settee, legs spread comfortably, watching us both with the calm certainty of a man who had already won the next three moves.
He tilted his head toward Cathy. “Come here.”
She rose without hesitation, the black dress shifting against her thighs. Victor patted his lap once, firm but unhurried. “Sit. I want to tell you a story.”
Cathy glanced at me. I could see the question in her eyes, the quick pulse at her throat. I nodded, throat too tight to speak. She crossed the small space and settled onto his lap, sideways at first, then adjusted so her back rested against his chest. Victor’s hands found her hips immediately, large, steady palms guiding her into place with subtle pressure. His fingers splayed across the fabric, thumbs tracing slow circles over the curve where hip met waist.
The sight hit me like a fist to the sternum. Jealousy flared bright and immediate, a hot spike behind my ribs. At the same time, my cock strained against my slacks, aching. I stayed silent, bracelet glowing blue on my wrist like a traitor.
Victor began to speak, voice low and measured. “Years ago, I had a couple much like you. Young, curious, both submissive in their own ways. She wanted to be taken apart slowly. He wanted to watch every piece fall. We started small, whispers, touches over clothes. By the end of the night she was on her knees begging while he sat frozen, harder than he’d ever been.”
His hands moved as he spoke, sliding up her sides, brushing the undersides of her breasts through the sheer panels. Cathy’s breath hitched. Her head tipped back against his shoulder.
Cathy’s nipples were hard points against the dress now. Victor’s thumbs grazed them once, deliberate. She gasped softly.
Victor’s eyes never left mine. “The trick is patience. Let the ache build until it hurts to breathe. Then let it hurt more.”
He kept his grip on her nipples a moment longer, pinching, hard, before finally releasing. Cathy exhaled in a shaky rush, chest heaving, faint red marks blooming across her skin. The words hung in the air between us, heavy, sinking deep.
I wanted to stand. To pull her away. To beg him to stop. Instead, I sat frozen, pulse roaring in my ears, arousal warring with the sharp burn in my chest.
Victor noticed. “You’re doing well, Matt. Most men would have interrupted by now.”
He shifted Cathy slightly, turning her so she faced me more directly. Her legs parted just enough that the hem rode higher.
Then he leaned close to her ear. “The main room is doing a demonstration soon. Cuckold scene. Structured. Public enough to feel exposed, private enough to stay safe. We should watch. Then we’ll play our own version.”
We left the lounge together. Victor walked between us, one hand resting lightly at the small of Cathy’s back. I followed a step behind.
The main hall had changed. A low platform had been set up near the center, velvet-draped, lit by a single overhead spotlight. A couple occupied it already: woman in red lingerie, man kneeling at her feet, wrists bound loosely with silk. Another man, red bracelet glowing, stood behind her, hands on her shoulders while she spoke softly to her partner. The crowd formed a loose semicircle, respectful distance maintained.
Victor found us a spot near the front but off to the side, partially shadowed. He pulled Cathy against his front again, arms loose around her waist. I stood beside them, close enough to feel the heat radiating from both bodies.
The demonstration unfolded slowly. The dominant man commanded the kneeling husband while he touched the wife, caressing her breasts, sliding fingers between her thighs over lace.
Victor’s hand moved on Cathy at the same rhythm. Over clothes at first, palms cupping her breasts, thumbs circling nipples. Then lower, tracing the line of her hip, dipping between her thighs to press against the thin fabric covering her mound. Cathy’s breathing turned ragged. She leaned into him, eyes half-closed.
Victor spoke quietly, mouth near her ear but loud enough for me to hear. “Your turn soon, little one. Matt will describe his fantasy while I touch you. Every word. Every detail.”
My mouth went dry. The jealousy burned hotter now, a live wire in my veins. Yet my cock throbbed painfully, leaking against my boxers.
The demonstration ended with soft applause, the couple stepping down flushed and smiling. Victor didn’t wait.
“Back to the lounge,” he said. “We’ll do our version.”
We returned to the same curtained space. The curtain fell closed behind us, muffling the distant music to a low throb.
Victor sat on the settee again. Cathy sat in his lap again. I took the armchair opposite.
“Matt,” Victor said. “Tell us your fantasy. Aloud. In detail. While I touch her.”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out at first.
Victor’s hands were already on her, sliding up her thighs, bunching the dress higher. Fingers brushed her bare skin. Cathy whimpered softly.
“Start,” he commanded.
I forced the words out. “I imagine you… taking her. Slow. Making her beg. While I watch. Helpless. Knowing she’s coming for you, not me.”
Victor’s hand slipped between her legs, pressing against her through the thin fabric of her panties. Cathy’s legs shivered slightly.
“More,” he said.
I kept talking, describing her on her knees, his cock in her mouth, her moans muffled, my hands bound so I couldn’t touch myself. The words felt obscene coming out loud. Each one ratcheted the tension higher.
Victor’s fingers moved in slow circles now, teasing her clit through the damp lace. Cathy’s head fell forward, hair curtaining her face. Her hips rocked against his hand.
Then the curtain parted slightly. Eleanor stepped inside, eyes scanning the scene.
“Everything all right here?” she asked, voice calm.
Cathy lifted her head, cheeks flushed. “Everything’s OK,” she said. “We’re good.”
I echoed her. “We’re good.”
Eleanor lingered a second longer, gaze flicking to Victor, then back to us. She nodded once. “Enjoy the evening.”
She withdrew. The curtain fell closed.
His hand kept moving the whole time. Cathy’s breathing turned to soft moans.
He leaned close to her ear again, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her.
I didn’t know if I could survive what came next.
I didn’t know if I wanted to stop it.
Victor led us deeper into the mansion without another word. The corridor narrowed, walls lined with dark silk panels that absorbed sound. We passed a few curtained alcoves where low moans drifted out, then stopped at one near the end. The space was larger than the lounge, three walls of heavy drapes, a low chaise in the center, a single upholstered chair facing it. A small table held bottled water and condoms in neat rows. The air felt warmer here, closer.
Victor drew the entrance curtain closed. The fabric fell with a soft hush, sealing us in.
He turned to Cathy first. “Panties off. Slow. Fold them and place them on the table.”
Cathy’s hands trembled only slightly as she reached under the hem of her dress. She hooked her thumbs into the lace and slid the black fabric down her legs, stepping out of them one heel at a time. The damp spot in the center caught the low light. She folded the panties carefully, set them beside her bra on the table. Naked beneath the dress now, she stood straighter, chin lifted.
Victor nodded once. “Good girl.”
Then he looked at me. “Kneel there.” He pointed to the floor in front of the chaise, directly facing it. “Hands behind your back. No touching yourself. No matter what.”
I dropped to my knees. The carpet was thick but still hard against my bones. I clasped my hands at the small of my back. My cock pressed painfully against my zipper. I didn’t dare adjust.
Victor guided Cathy to the chaise. She sat, then reclined when he pressed a hand to her shoulder. He knelt between her parted thighs, pushing the dress up to her waist. Her pussy was bare now, glistening. He traced one finger along her inner thigh, slow, deliberate.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
His hands moved higher, palms sliding over her hips, thumbs brushing the crease where leg met body. Cathy’s breath caught. He leaned in and kissed the side of her neck, open-mouthed, teeth grazing skin. She tilted her head to give him more access. A soft gasp escaped her.
I watched every detail. The way his silver hair caught the light when he moved. The flex of his shoulders under the suit jacket. The slow rhythm of his fingers circling closer to her clit without touching it yet. Cathy’s hips lifted slightly, seeking. He pressed her back down with one firm hand on her stomach.
“Patience,” he said.
His mouth traveled lower, kissing along her collarbone, then the swell of her breast through the sheer panel. He sucked her nipple through the fabric. Cathy moaned, louder this time. Her hands came up to grip his shoulders.
Victor lifted his head. “Tell him how it feels.”
Cathy’s eyes found mine. They were glassy. “It feels… so good. His mouth is hot. His hands are strong.”
Victor smiled against her skin. He pushed two fingers inside her slowly. Cathy arched, a sharp cry leaving her throat. He pumped once, twice, then curled them. Her thighs trembled.
The sensory flood hit me hard. Her gasps filled the small space. The wet sound of his fingers moving. The scent of her arousal, sharp and sweet. My own breathing turned ragged. Jealousy clawed at my chest, sharp, relentless, but the sight of her surrendering like this kept me rooted, aching, unable to look away.
Victor added a third finger. Cathy’s moans turned desperate. He kissed her neck again, harder this time, sucking a mark into the skin just below her ear. Then he moved to her mouth.
The kiss was deep, claiming. His tongue pushed past her lips. Cathy opened for him immediately, one hand sliding into his hair. He angled her head, controlling the depth, the pace. His fingers never stopped moving inside her.
That was the moment the jealousy overwhelmed everything else.
Seeing his mouth on hers, really on hers, not a peck or a tease, felt like a line crossed. My stomach lurched. The thrill twisted into something darker, more painful. I couldn’t breathe right.
I lifted my right hand from behind my back and held up three fingers in the agreed signal. “Yellow.”
Victor froze instantly. He broke the kiss, pulled his fingers free with care. Cathy blinked, dazed, then focused on me.
Victor stepped back a full pace, hands visible at his sides. “Talk,” he said quietly.
I stayed on my knees. My voice came out rough. “The kiss… it felt too much. Like I was losing her.”
Cathy slid off the chaise and knelt in front of me. She cupped my face. “I’m still here. With you. This is us doing it together. I want this, but only if you’re okay.”
Her thumbs brushed my cheeks. I could smell Victor on her skin, cologne and salt.
Victor spoke from behind her. “We stop if you need to. No questions. But if you want to continue, we go slower on the mouth. Boundaries first.”
I looked at Cathy. Her eyes were steady, pleading in the best way. I felt the storm inside me settle just enough.
“I want to keep going,” I said. “But no more deep kissing. Not yet.”
Cathy nodded. She kissed my forehead softly. “Thank you.”
Victor waited until we both looked at him. “Understood. No deep kissing. Everything else stays on the table unless you say otherwise.”
He offered Cathy his hand. She took it and rose. He guided her back to the chaise, gentler this time.
“Legs open,” he said.
She complied. Victor knelt again. His hands returned to her thighs, spreading her wider. He leaned in and kissed her neck once more, lighter, no teeth. Then lower, across her chest. His fingers slid back inside her, slower now.
Cathy’s head fell back. She moaned softly.
Victor looked at me over her shoulder. “Watch closely, Matt. This is what she needs.”
His thumb found her clit, circling with steady pressure. Cathy’s hips bucked. Her gasps turned rhythmic, building.
I knelt there, hands behind my back again, bracelet pulsing. The jealousy still simmered, but it mixed with something else now, pride, maybe. A dark, twisted kind of love. Seeing her take pleasure so openly, knowing I had said yes to it.
Victor’s fingers sped up. Cathy’s moans grew sharper. Her body tensed.
“Come for me,” he commanded quietly.
She did. Her back arched, thighs clamping around his hand. A long, broken cry tore from her throat. Victor held her through it, steady, until she collapsed back against the chaise, chest heaving.
He withdrew his fingers slowly. Kissed her forehead. Then looked at me.
“You did well,” he said.
Cathy reached for my hand. I took it, squeezing hard.
Cathy stayed on the chaise for a long minute after her orgasm faded, chest rising and falling in slow waves. Victor stood and stepped back, giving her space without being asked. He wiped his fingers on a small black cloth from the table, movements precise and unhurried. The alcove smelled of sex now, sharp, intimate, impossible to ignore.
I rose from my knees, legs stiff. Cathy reached for me. I took her hand and helped her sit up. Her dress fell back into place, though the hem stayed high on her thighs. She looked dazed but present, eyes clear when they met mine.
Victor spoke first, voice low. “Take a moment. Drink some water.”
He handed us each a bottle. I twisted the cap off mine with shaking fingers. Cathy drank deeply, throat working. We sat side by side on the chaise, shoulders touching. Victor remained standing, arms loose at his sides, watching us with patient attention.
Cathy set the bottle down. “That was… intense.”
I nodded. My throat felt raw even though I hadn’t spoken much. “Yeah.”
She turned to me fully. “Are you still okay? After the yellow?”
I exhaled. “It helped. Hearing you say we’re doing it together. I needed that.”
She squeezed my hand. “I meant it. This only works if we’re both here.”
Victor cleared his throat softly. “You handled the pause well, Matt. Most men push through and regret it later. You communicated. That’s strength.”
The compliment landed strangely, praise from the man who had just made my wife come on his fingers. I felt a flush creep up my neck.
Victor continued. “We’ve gone far tonight. Further than most new couples. But there’s more if you want it. Full exploration. You set the pace.”
He let the suggestion hang.
Cathy looked at me.
I felt the pull in two directions. Part of me wanted to leave, grab our coats, walk out into the Amsterdam night, go home and fuck each other senseless while the memory was still fresh. Another part, darker and hungrier, wanted to see how far the fantasy could stretch. Wanted to watch Victor claim her the way we had whispered about in bed.
Victor stepped closer. “I’ll guide both of you. You won’t have to decide every step. I’ll claim control. You follow. That’s the release you’re both chasing.”
His voice carried quiet certainty. No pleading. Just fact.
Cathy spoke softly. “I want to keep going. But only if you do.”
I looked at her flushed cheeks, the faint mark on her neck where Victor had sucked. The jealousy was still there, a low burn, but it felt different now, sharper, more alive. Like fuel.
I nodded once. “Let’s go to the suite.”
Victor’s smile was small, satisfied. “Good choice.”
He offered Cathy his arm. She took it. I followed them out of the alcove. The corridor felt longer on the way back, the distant music a steady pulse. We passed other curtained spaces, moans, soft laughter, the occasional sharp cry. None of it registered fully. My focus stayed on Cathy’s hand on Victor’s forearm, the way his suit jacket stretched across his shoulders.
We climbed a narrow staircase at the end of the hall. The upper floor was quieter, carpet thicker underfoot. Victor led us to a door marked with a discreet brass plaque. He opened it with a key from his pocket.
The suite was larger than I expected, high ceilings, a king bed draped in dark linens, a leather armchair in one corner, a low sofa along the wall. Soft lighting from wall sconces. A small bar cart held water, glasses, lube, condoms. Everything arranged with the same careful order as downstairs.
Victor closed the door behind us. The lock clicked.
He turned to face us. “From this point, I lead. You obey. Safe words still apply. Yellow pauses. Red ends. Understood?”
Cathy nodded. “Yes.”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
Victor’s gaze settled on me first. “Matt, sit in the armchair. Hands on the arms. Don’t move unless I say.”
I crossed to the chair and sat. The leather was cool against my back. I placed my hands on the wide arms, fingers curling over the edges. Bracelets glowing in the dim light.
Victor turned to Cathy. “Undress for me. Everything except the heels. Slow.”
She reached behind her for the zipper. The dress slid down her body in a slow pool of black fabric. She stepped out of it, naked now except for the high heels. Her skin flushed from chest to thighs. Nipples tight. Pussy still swollen from earlier.
Victor circled her once, appraising. “Perfect.”
He moved to the bed and pulled two silk scarves from a drawer. Dark red. He returned and tied one loosely around each of her wrists, not binding them together yet, just marking them.
“Lie back on the bed,” he said. “Arms above your head.”
Cathy complied. Victor fastened the scarves to the headboard posts, loose enough she could slip free if needed. She tested the give, then relaxed.
Victor looked at me over his shoulder. “Watch everything.”
He shed his jacket, folded it neatly over the sofa back. Unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. Rolled the sleeves to his elbows. The motion revealed strong forearms dusted with silver hair.
He climbed onto the bed, kneeling between Cathy’s legs. One hand trailed up her inner thigh. She shivered.
“Tell him what you want,” Victor said.
Cathy’s voice came soft but clear. “I want you inside me.”
Victor glanced at me. “You hear that, Matt?”
I nodded. My mouth was dry. Cock straining.
Victor unbuckled his belt. The sound of metal and leather filled the quiet room. He opened his trousers, pushed them down just enough. His cock sprang free, thick, hard, veined. The sight twisted something deep in my gut.
He rolled on a condom with practiced ease. Coated himself with lube from the nightstand.
He positioned himself at her entrance. Cathy’s breath hitched.
Victor looked directly at me. “Last chance to stop.”
I met his eyes. “Don’t stop.”
His smile returned, slow and knowing.
He pushed forward in one smooth motion.
Cathy gasped, back arching. Victor sank deep, then held still, letting her adjust.
The tension in the room coiled tighter. My hands gripped the chair arms hard enough to ache.
Victor began to move, slow thrusts, deliberate. Cathy moaned with each one. Her heels dug into the mattress.
He leaned down, kissed her neck again. Whispered something I couldn’t hear.
Then he looked back at me, eyes locked on mine.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” he said.
I couldn’t speak.
He thrust harder.
Cathy cried out.
The night had only just begun.
Victor kept his rhythm steady at first, long slow strokes that let every inch drag against her. Cathy’s wrists flexed against the scarves, not struggling, just feeling the light restraint. Her heels pressed into the mattress, hips lifting to meet him each time he sank deep. The wet sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, rhythmic and obscene.
I sat in the armchair, hands gripping the leather so hard my knuckles ached white. Victor’s eyes found mine. He held the contact, unblinking, while he thrust.
“Look at her, Matt,” he said. “Really look.”
I did. Cathy’s face was flushed, lips parted, eyes half-closed in pleasure. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath. A thin sheen of sweat glistened between them. Victor’s hand slid up her side, cupped one breast, thumb brushing the nipple until she whimpered.
“Tell him,” Victor commanded.
Cathy’s voice came breathless. “It feels… so full. He’s stretching me. Deep.”
Victor smiled, small and satisfied. He picked up speed, hips snapping harder. Cathy cried out, back arching off the bed. The scarves pulled taut.
He leaned down, mouth near her ear. “Louder. Let him hear how much you love it.”
“I love it,” she gasped. “God, Victor, I love your cock inside me. It’s so thick. So good.”
The words landed like blows. Jealousy surged through me, raw and blinding, but right behind it came a dark wave of ecstasy. My cock throbbed painfully in my trousers, untouched, leaking. Seeing her like this, open, vocal, completely given, felt like the fantasy made flesh. The reality of it hurt. The reality of it thrilled.
Victor straightened, hands on her hips now, pulling her onto him with each thrust. He looked at me again. “Come closer. Hold her hand.”
I stood on unsteady legs. The carpet felt miles thick under my feet. I crossed to the bed, sat on the edge. Cathy’s arm stretched toward me. I took her hand. Her fingers laced tight with mine. She squeezed hard every time Victor bottomed out.
Victor noticed. “Good. Stay there. Feel her shake.”
He drove deeper. Cathy’s moans turned sharp, almost sobs. Her free hand clawed at the sheets. Victor reached down, found her clit with his thumb, circled in tight strokes.
“Come again,” he ordered. “Come on my cock while your husband holds your hand.”
Cathy’s body tensed. Her grip on mine turned bruising. She cried out, long and broken, thighs trembling around Victor’s waist. Her pussy clenched visibly around him. Victor groaned low in his throat but didn’t slow.
He kept thrusting through her orgasm, drawing it out until she was gasping, oversensitive. Then he pulled out slowly. His cock glistened, condom slick.
“Turn over,” he said.
Cathy rolled onto her stomach. Victor untied one scarf, guided her wrists behind her back, retied them together loosely. She rested her cheek on the pillow, ass lifted slightly.
Victor positioned himself behind her. He entered her again in one smooth push. Cathy moaned into the pillow. He gripped her hips, pulled her back onto him.
“Tell him what you feel now,” Victor said.
“Deeper this way,” she panted. “Hitting new places. I can feel every vein. Every ridge.”
Victor’s pace built again, harder, more insistent. The bed creaked under them. Cathy’s bound hands flexed uselessly. Victor reached forward, took her bound wrists in one hand, used them as leverage to pull her back harder.
She turned her head toward me, eyes glassy but focused.
“I love you,” she whispered between moans.
The words pierced straight through the storm in my chest. I leaned closer, pressed my forehead to hers for a second. “I love you too.”
Victor slowed for a moment, letting the tenderness hang. Then he spoke quietly. “You’re both doing beautifully.”
He reached around, fingers finding her clit again. Cathy bucked, moaning louder.
“Ask for it,” he told her.
“Please,” she gasped. “Make me come again. Please, Victor.”
Victor obliged. His fingers moved faster on her clit, circling with relentless pressure. His hips slammed forward, each thrust deep and unyielding. Cathy shattered a third time, her body convulsing, cries muffled against the pillow as waves of pleasure ripped through her.
Victor’s rhythm faltered. A low, guttural growl built in his throat. He pulled out suddenly, the condom still sheathed on his thick length. With quick, practiced movements he peeled it off and tossed it aside. His hand wrapped around his slick cock, stroking hard and fast while he turned Cathy around again to face him.
He came with a loud, primal roar, deep, animal grunts that echoed off the walls and filled my ears like thunder. The sound burned into me, raw and commanding, a noise I knew I would never unhear. Thick ropes of cum erupted across Cathy’s body: first splashing hot over her breasts, coating the soft curves and hard nipples, then higher, streaking across her chest and throat, the final spurts landing on her cheek and lips. She gasped, eyes fluttering open at the warmth and the sheer volume of it.
Victor exhaled heavily. He stayed kneeling between her legs for a moment, admiring his work. Then he reached down, gathered a thick bead of cum from the swell of her breast with two fingers. He brought it to her mouth.
“Open wide,” he said softly.
Cathy obeyed instantly, lips parting, tongue sliding out eager. Victor pushed his fingers past her lips, deep enough that her cheeks hollowed. She closed around them, sucking slow and deliberate, tongue curling around his fingers, tasting every trace of him. A soft, wet sound filled the room, her mouth working, lips sealed tight. She moaned low around his fingers, eyes locked on his, pupils blown wide.
Victor watched her with dark approval, free hand stroking her hair back from her damp forehead. “That’s it,” he growled softly. “Suck it clean. Every drop. Show him what a greedy little girl you are.”
He twisted his fingers slightly inside her mouth, pressing against her tongue, letting her taste the salt and musk. Cathy’s throat worked, swallowing around nothing, eyes fluttering as she took it deeper. The sight hit me like a punch, my wife, marked with another man’s cum, sucking it off his fingers like it was the only thing she wanted. Humiliation burned hot in my chest, sharp and undeniable, but right behind it came a twisted rush of arousal so strong my cock jerked painfully in my trousers. She looked beautiful. Broken. Mine and not mine. The grunts from his orgasm still echoed in my skull, now joined by these wet, obscene sucking sounds. I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to.
Victor finally withdrew his fingers with a slow drag, strings of saliva connecting them to her lips for a heartbeat before snapping. He wiped them on her lower lip, smearing the last trace across her mouth like gloss.
“Good girl,” he said quietly.
Cathy licked her lips, eyes flicking to me—soft, almost apologetic, but still glassy with submission.
Victor finally moved. He reached for a soft cloth on the nightstand and handed it to me without a word.
Cathy turned her face towards me. I wiped the cum from her cheek first, then her throat, her breasts, gentle strokes, careful not to press too hard on sensitive skin. She sighed softly under my touch, reaching up to brush my wrist in thanks.
Victor watched us both, silent now, the storm of his release spent.
Then she curled into me, skin hot and damp. I kissed her forehead, her temple, her mouth. She tasted faintly of salt and sex.
Victor stood, buttoned his shirt, rolled down his sleeves. He watched us for a moment, expression unreadable.
“You both took that well,” he said. “Better than most.”
He moved to the bar cart, poured three glasses of water. Handed one to each of us. I drank gratefully. Cathy sipped slowly, still catching her breath.
Victor sat on the edge of the bed. “No rush to leave. Take your time. Talk. Process.”
He didn’t push. For the first time that night, he simply waited.
Cathy nestled closer to me. Her bracelet glowed softly against my shirt. Mine pressed against her back.
The intensity still hummed in the air, thick and electric. My mind spun with conflicting images, Victor’s cock inside her, her cries, the way she looked at me while it happened. Ecstasy and agony twisted together so tightly I couldn’t separate them.
I held her tighter.
This was the breaking point.
And somehow, we were still whole.
We stayed in the suite longer than I expected. Time blurred after the intensity faded. Cathy curled against me on the bed, skin still warm and slightly sticky. Victor sat quietly on the sofa across the room, giving us space without leaving entirely. He sipped water, checked his phone once, then set it aside. No pressure to talk. No rush to dress.
Eventually Cathy stirred. She kissed my collarbone, then sat up slowly. Her wrists still carried faint pink lines from the scarves. She reached for her dress on the floor, slipped it over her head without underwear. The fabric clung in places where sweat had dried. I pulled my trousers back on, buttoned my shirt halfway. My bracelet glowed dimly now, fading with the night.
Victor stood. “You both need anything before you go? Towels, fresh water?”
Cathy shook her head. “We’re good. Thank you.”
He nodded once. “You know where to find me if you ever want to explore again. No obligation. Just an open door.”
He extended a hand to me. I shook it. Firm, steady, the same grip I had kissed hours earlier. Then he shook Cathy’s hand, lingered a second longer, thumb brushing her knuckles. No words. Just acknowledgment.
We left the suite together. Victor walked us down the staircase, through the now quieter corridors. The main hall had thinned out, fewer bodies, softer music, a handful of people still murmuring in corners. Eleanor stood near the foyer, speaking to another couple. She glanced up as we approached, eyes scanning us with practiced calm.
“Heading out?” she asked.
Cathy nodded. “Yes.”
Eleanor smiled, small and genuine. “You both did well tonight. Come back anytime.”
She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t pry. Just handed us our coats from the cloakroom attendant. We slipped them on. The wool felt heavy after hours in heated rooms.
Outside the air hit sharp and cold. January in Amsterdam carried that damp bite that seeps straight to the bone. The canal reflected streetlights in fractured gold. A taxi idled at the curb, Victor must have called it. We slid into the backseat. Cathy gave our address. The driver pulled away smoothly.
Silence stretched for the first few blocks. Streetlights slid across Cathy’s face in slow pulses. Her hand rested on my thigh, thumb moving in small circles. I covered it with mine.
Finally she spoke. “You okay?”
I exhaled through my nose. “I don’t know yet.”
She waited.
“It felt overwhelming,” I said. “Watching him fuck you. Hearing you beg. Seeing your face when you came for him.”
Cathy squeezed my hand. “I know.”
“But I also… I’ve never felt more alive. The jealousy burned, but it made everything sharper. Your moans. The way you looked at me while he was inside you. Holding your hand. It was agony and the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced at the same time.”
She turned toward me. “I felt it too. The thrill of being taken like that. Being watched. Knowing you were aching for me. It made me come harder than I ever have.”
The taxi turned onto a quieter street. Buildings closed in, familiar brick and narrow windows.
“I was scared I’d lose you,” I admitted. “Not to him physically. To the feeling. That I wouldn’t be enough after seeing what he could give you.”
Cathy lifted my hand to her lips, kissed my knuckles. “You’re enough. You’re the one I came home with. You’re the one who said yes to this. Who held my hand while another man fucked me. That takes more strength than anything Victor did tonight.”
I looked at her. Her eyes were steady in the passing light.
“The fantasy was real tonight,” I said. “And it didn’t break us. It cracked something open. I feel raw. Exposed. But closer to you than I have in years.”
She nodded. “Same. The dares, the commands, Victor’s pushiness, it all stripped away the polite layers we’ve built up. I needed to feel desired like that. And I needed you to see it. To choose it with me.”
The taxi slowed at our building. We paid, stepped out into the cold. The stairs creaked under our feet, same as always. Inside the apartment the lavender scent flooded my nostrils. The place smelled faintly of home.
We didn’t speak much after that. Cathy kicked off her heels. I hung our coats. We moved to the bedroom by unspoken agreement. No rush. No performance. Just us.
She peeled off the dress again. I undressed slowly. We slid under the duvet naked. Her skin felt familiar and new at once. I kissed her slowly, tasting the faint trace of the night on her lips. She kissed me back with the same quiet hunger.
When I entered her it was gentle. No commands. No audience. Just the slow slide of bodies that knew each other perfectly. She wrapped her legs around me. I buried my face in her neck. We moved together until the tension that had built all night finally broke in a soft, shuddering release.
Afterward we lay tangled, breathing in sync. Cathy traced the faint glow of my bracelet with her fingertip. The light had dimmed to almost nothing.
“Keep it?” she asked.
I looked at the band on my wrist. Blue and green threads still faintly luminous.
“Yeah,” I said. “A reminder.”
She smiled against my shoulder. “Of what we discovered.”
I pulled her closer. The room was quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside. Just the soft dark, and the steady beat of her heart against mine.