Peter pulled his BMW into the garage and raced inside.
“Hey!” he shouted to his wife, Ellie, as he dropped his suitcase in the foyer and hurdled upstairs. He grabbed what he needed from his closet and then reversed course. He nearly ran into Ellie at the foot of the stairs.
“Oh my God, you startled me!” Ellie said, seeming flustered. “I … I thought you were going straight to the airport.”
“Yeah, I was,” Peter said breathlessly as he folded a pair of wool slacks and a couple of dress shirts and ties into his carry-on. “But then I remembered this client is super conservative when it comes to dress code. I had to come home to get some dressier stuff.”
“Oh shoot. Are you still going to be able to make your flight?” Ellie said, sounding anxious.
“Yeah, I should be OK, as long as I get lucky with traffic. But I am definitely cutting it close,” Peter said, rolling his carry-on through the living room and large open dining room toward the kitchen and garage entrance. Ellie followed closely behind. He turned to give her a kiss. It wasn’t until then that Peter had even fully looked at Ellie.
She was dressed in a snug gray cashmere sweater dress and black suede thigh-high boots. Her long brown hair was down and freshly washed and blown out. She had on a bit of make-up, making her blue-green eyes pop.
“Wow. You look nice. What’s up?” Peter asked with a smile.
“Um … you know … book club. That’s why the kids are at Mom’s,” she answered, with some light irritation.
He took in more of his surroundings. There was a charcuterie plate on the dining table, and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.
“Damn, those book club gals get better than I do,” he said with a laugh as he reached for a chunk of smoked gouda. Still chewing, he gave Ellie a peck on the cheek as he turned and disappeared into the garage.
Peter wove through residential neighborhoods faster than he should have, using a favorite shortcut to the interstate highway. He was sweating the flight time and praying he didn’t run into a traffic jam. His mind was full of the logistical details of where he would park, which security line he would take, and all the other tricks he had learned over the years of business travel to shave a few minutes when needed. Thankfully, traffic was smooth sailing, and once he saw the exit sign for the airport he started to relax and think of something other than just getting on the plane.
I’m really freaking glad I’m flying out tonight, Peter thought to himself. All those chattering women. Serving them wine and snacks until they were hammered enough that he could sneak off to watch ESPN in peace. This night seemed a little different though. Ellie was really dressed up. It was usually yoga pants or blue jeans with that crowd. And champagne? Selzer and chardonnay was usually all that gaggle needed to be happy.
He parked and rolled his bag through the parking garage. Man, Ellie sure did look good tonight. He played the image of her in his mind as he angled toward Departures. Mmmm. That tight cashmere dress. She really does have a fantastic shape. And her nipples were hard under the thin fabric of that dress. Fuck, that turns me on. And those boots! Yum. He recalled when they had bought them. They were wandering through Nordstrom when he had spotted them. Peter thought they were super-hot. Ellie said they were “stripper” boots. She got them to make him happy but then wore them only once.
Peter got into the security line. He loosened his belt, took off his watch, had his ID and boarding pass handy — all the prep work that saved time. Fuck, she looked hot. And smelled good too. Was that a new perfume? Why would she wear perfume for book group? And that champagne. That was the good stuff. Dom Perignon. Jeez, why blow that on book club?
It was at that moment that Peter froze. The line moved forward without him as he stood stock-still. Someone behind him cleared their throat in irritation.
Two glasses? Why were there only two, fucking, glasses?
Peter awkwardly worked his way against the flow of the security line, winding his way out with embarrassment. He could feel his pulse in his ears and his chest pounding hard in his chest. He ran back to his car, threw his bag in the trunk and jetted out of the parking lot as quickly as the credit card reader would allow. Once he hit the open road, Peter calmed down a bit. It’s Ellie! The mother of my children! Everyone calls us the perfect couple! The closer he got to his house, the sillier he felt. Until he rounded the corner and saw a black Mercedes in the drive. Whose fucking car is that? If it was book group there would be four mini-vans and a Volvo station wagon. Not a goddam Mercedes AMG GT.
Peter circled around and drove down the alley. He parallel-parked next to the garbage cans behind his house. He tapped the recycling bin and panicked for a moment as it teetered, threatening to spill noisy cans all over the pavement. Peter held his breath until the big blue bin settled.
Peter quietly lifted the latch on the back gate, tiptoed along the pool deck and patio, and stood in a shadow next to the French doors that led to the family room. He cocked his head, suppressed his own breathing as best he could, and listened. There was music. Sade. Sade?! That was their fucking song! He also knew that, for reasons he did not understand but previously had always been grateful for, Sade got Ellie in the mood. He heard laughter. A man’s laugh. Peter was crazy with emotion. He flashed for a moment with the thought of grabbing his duck gun and running in and blowing-away whoever was with his wife. No. No. That is dumb. You aren’t even sure she’s fooling around!
He took a deep breath and opened the door just far enough for him to step through. He peeked around the corner and could see shadows and hear voices on the edge of the dining room. When he was confident that they were distracted with one another, he stealthily but quickly went up the narrow back stairs to the second floor. He walked past the bedrooms and the den until he got to the loft that overlooked the living room and its cathedral ceiling. It was mostly a play area for the kids now and was generally a mess. He dodged Legos and toy trucks until he got to his daughter’s large dollhouse. He crouched down behind it. From this vantage point he could look through the wrought iron railing and see most of the living room, and, he hoped, hear what was happening in the family room, dining area, and kitchen.
The music prevented him from hearing voices clearly. Unless they weren’t talking at all. He couldn’t see Ellie or whoever this bum was, but he surmised that they were in the “L” section of the living room that transitioned to the dining area. There was a long leather bench there, and he imagined, for a second, the two of them sitting there and making out between sips of his expensive champagne. Between musical bars, he listened as intently as he could. Then he made out the unmistakable voice of his wife.
“Slow down, there, Big Boy. We’ve got all night. Hell, we’ve got the next two nights,” Ellie said with a giggle.
“I need you now,” uttered a deep voice. “Come, on. Let’s fuck out there. Like last time. And then I’ll fuck you in your marriage bed.”
Peter’s blood boiled. I. Will. Fucking. Kill. Him. For a moment, Peter distracted himself, trying to figure out how he would get to the garage to fetch one of his shotguns. Then he received a visual shock. From above, he watched Ellie strut across the large living room, pulling the gray sweater dress over her head as she did so. She was left in the thigh-high suede boots, a black lace demi bra, and matching thong. Ellie had stopped wearing sexy lingerie five years ago. Or so he thought. Right behind her was a tall man with a shaved head. His shirt was off, and Peter watched his muscles flex as he chased Ellie to the large circular leather sofa.
It was Tony DiClemente. Goddam Tony DiClemente. By far, the biggest douchebag in their circle of friends and acquaintances. Until this moment, hate would have been too strong a word, but Peter had always felt contempt toward this guy. He was a Wall Street hedge fund manager and he fit the profile. He was handsome, tall, and carried himself like a total prick. He was the kind of guy that put on a big show of being a family man, but talked trash behind his wife’s back. After he was a few belts deep on the golf course, or standing around the barbecue with the guys, he bragged about fucking the interns at his office and banging strippers with clients on business trips. If you looked up “misogynist” in the dictionary, you would find his picture.
Ellie and I had made fun of what a complete asshole this guy was! What the hell is she doing? Peter was frozen. He wanted to kill the guy. Or just get the hell out of there. But some part of him was frozen, needing to see what happened next. Instead of “fight,” or “flight,” there was only paralysis.
“Oh yeah, Baby. I’ve been starving for you!” Tony the Douche moaned. He kicked off his shoes and Ellie pulled off his pants. He was naked now except for his patterned dress socks. He pulled his long muscular legs up toward his broad shoulders. Peter’s wife knelt before Tony, licking up and down his bulbous ball sac and along his thick cock.
“God yes, I love your mouth. Do me, Baby. You know what I like,” he encouraged.
Ellie throated as much of that schlong as she could, maybe a little better than half, then licked down his cock and balls while jerking him off, before finally snaking her tongue into his asshole.
Peter flushed with shock. Ellie had been, at best, a tentative cock sucker with him. It was one of their little issues. And now she was throating this guy’s prick like a porn star and tossing his salad?! And she seemed to be loving it. Peter was horrified. And just a little turned-on.
Tony groaned in frustration when Ellie stopped her oral ministrations. She stood up, the muscles in her lovely thighs and ass seductively flexed by the high heels of the boots. She undid her tiny bra and tugged her thong to her ankles, flicking the vestige of lace from her boot with a burlesque dancer’s flourish. Her beautiful 36C tits, her taut tummy, her shaved puss, and her carved ass were his for the taking. And take her he did.
Tony grabbed Ellie by the waist and pulled her to him, guiding her to straddle his face. She kept herself from falling over by bracing herself against his strong shoulders and the back of the couch. He ground his face and tongue into her sex as Ellie arched and pinched her nipples. He shoved one, then two fingers into her sopping vulva.
“Oh, fuck, Tony. I swear your fingers are bigger than my husband’s cock,” Ellie moaned. “Speaking of cocks …” Ellie groaned as she pushed herself away from Tony’s grasp. She stepped from the sofa and moved to the over-sized round ottoman in the center of the room. They were now directly below Peter’s line-of-sight. He could see everything. He could smell her perfume. Fuck, I can smell her pussy, he thought to himself. Ellie positioned herself on all fours, spread her legs wide, arched her back provocatively and looked over her shoulder at Tony.
“Give me that giant cock,” she demanded.
When Tony stood and moved toward her, Peter could truly get a perspective on what she meant by “giant.” Tony’s dick must have approached nine inches in length and was easily half again as thick as his own.
“Oh, good girl,” Tony said as he positioned his massive dong at Ellie’s spread lips. “Is that the big one?”
“Yeah,” Ellie said with a grunt at Tony shoved his way into her cheating cunt, “It might be a little easier this time.”
What the hell were they talking about? Peter wondered. Tony was moving his thick, blue-veined monster in and out of her in full, slow thrusts, and she was groaning enthusiastically. Then Peter realized what Tony had referred to. When Ellie arched and pushed back into Tony, her ass spread open wide, and he could see, nestled there in her crack, was a large black anal plug. The hair stood up on the back of Peter’s neck. He had asked for anal a dozen times in ten years of marriage, and never gotten more than a dismissive laugh from Ellie. Now she’d shoved a plug up there?!
Ellie and Tony increased their pace and intensity. Ellie babbled the most horrible things.
“Fuck, I love your dick, Tony! Fuck me good. Spread me open with that thing!” Ellie grunted, looking back at Tony and urging him to give her everything he had. He spanked her, and she cried, “Yes! Fucking take me!”
She deteriorated into moaning babbles, inching toward what Peter knew was her impending orgasm, albeit louder and more intense than he had ever witnessed from her before. “Fuck, fuck, fuuucckkk!” she at last screamed, as her right leg spasmed violently and her head and chest collapsed to the ottoman. Tony withdrew his long glans and walked around to feed Ellie. She twisted to take in his glistening head as her spasms ebbed.
“Good girl. You ready for this thing in your ass?” Tony asked.
“Mmmm. Yeah. There’s a new bottle of lube in the powder room vanity. I’m just gonna rest here for a second, while you go get that,” she said with a half-laugh.
At last, Peter felt his paralysis ending. It was replaced by an overwhelming desire to flee. He had to get out of there. He could not stand the thought of watching his beautiful wife be anally fucked by this jackass. As quietly as he could, he crawled away from the mezzanine railing and then tiptoed back through the hall and down the stairs. He could hear Tony rummaging in the powder room. “So where the fuck is the lube?” he shouted to Ellie with frustration.
“In the bottom cabinet, in the back,” Ellie answered. “Behind the toilet paper. I didn’t want Peter to find it. I nearly lost my shit when he opened the medicine cabinet last week and the old bottle was sitting there next to the Tylenol. He was oblivious, as usual, thank God,” Ellie laughed. Peter waited for Tony to move back to the living room as he stood like a statue at the stairway door, tears forming in his eyes and feeling as if he might vomit.
“Ugh, fuck yeah,” he heard Ellie groan. “I’ve had that thing in me since 5:30. I’d just shoved it in when Peter stormed into the house.”
“Well,” Tony said, “Now you’re going to get something even bigger.”
Peter heard Ellie moan and in his mind’s eye he saw Tony’s thick head probing at her pretty back door.
“Uhh. Uhh. Slow. Oops, sorry. Try again. Uhh, uhhhh … oh God … yeah … that’s better … mmhm, that’s good … it’s past the muscle … keep going slow.” It was at that moment that Peter realized he had an erection. He was disgusted and infuriated, but in some way also excited that his wife was getting fucked in the ass by this jerk. As Ellie’s moans became more emphatic, frequent, and unintelligible, Peter understood that she was very much enjoying being sodomized. He figured they were now engrossed enough that he could make his final escape. Peter moved like a sloth on speed, stepping as silently as possible from the stairway door, across the family room, toward the French doors to the patio.
As he slowly pulled the door behind him, he heard the sound of Tony’s large hand smacking Ellie’s ass, and then her breathless scream, “Oh fuck, yeah, you pig! Fuck my ass. Yessss! Fuuuck! Myyy! Assss!!! Oh my God, I think I’m gonna cum…”
Peter sulked to his car and then, for lack of anywhere else to go, drove back to the airport. He cried all the way there. He talked his way on to the last flight and had three bourbons before they shut the plane lights down. He slinked into his hotel past midnight, an emotional wreck. But as he lay in his lonely hotel bed, he found himself stroking his cock, remembering his beautiful wife being fucked by another man.
