As he replayed the memory of the night before, Terry couldn’t get the image of his co-worker fucking his wife out of his head. It was an erotic vision as he remembered from his vantage around the corner. He saw their bodies, still dressed but for their underwear that hung at their ankles. He heard the sounds of their sex and the filthiness of their obscenities spoken in their lust.
Sitting behind his desk, he stroked his erection through the silky material of his slacks. He shook his head at the wonder of his arousal from watching his wife cheat. Hell, cheat in his own house, while he was there.
Memories from his childhood flooded back. He hid in the shrubbery and watched his neighbor as a sixteen-year-old boy, fuck salesman after salesman. Her husband, a business owner, worked sixteen-hour days regularly. He remembered jacking off into her panties, that he had stolen from her clothesline, as he watched her sucking so many different men. It stood as a dirty memory that he could not shake.
It was one reason he made the wager. He just wanted to see his wife do what he knew she was already doing. He knew he would lose the wager. He knew he would have a debt to pay. He knew he would pay the debt on his knees in front of the man who had been fucking his pretty wife.
Was he gay? No. He would suck the dick. He would pay the debt. But he would do so in the privacy of his office and his fantasy. Yes, his fantasy. It had gnawed at him for years, after years of watching his pretty neighbor slut herself with those traveling peddlers.
How would it feel, throbbing in his mouth? How would it taste? Would he gag? Could he bring himself to swallow? He wanted to find out.
The door opened while Bret knocked. He walked in with a victorious grin. “You saw?” he asked of the evening before.
“I saw,” Terry answered, feigning anger, “I saw everything. How long have you been fucking her?”
“Remember the terms of the bet,” Bret said, “can’t get mad nor divorce her.”
“I’m not mad,” Terry affirmed, standing from his chair, “Just asking a question. I mean it was obvious. You’ve been fucking for a while.”
“Almost a year,” Bret confirmed, “You work so much, Terry. A woman needs attention.”
Terry knelt and watched Bret unzip his trousers, “Did you lock the door?”
“Damn right,” Bret laughed. “I don’t want anyone seeing this.”
Terry watched Bret push his boxers to his knees and expose his flaccid cock. His eyes studied it closely. He surveyed the thick, blue vein that snaked down the top of his shaft. He closely examined the wrinkled skin of Bret’s heavy ball sack. “This stays between us,” he warned, “right?”
“Fuck yes,” Bret agreed.
Terry committed himself to the deed. It was now or never. He opened his mouth and took Bret’s cock in his hand.
