Brett

 

I’d have been well and truly fucking mortified if the whole experience wasn’t so surreal. This wasn’t my wife inside the hotel we’d made our home in these past twelve months. This wasn’t the woman who’d spent her whole adult life in my arms, laughing as we shared a bottle of wine after a hard day’s work, cooking a Sunday roast after a sleepy morning in bed with her legs tangled in mine as we argued who was going to get up to make coffee.

This woman was a wanton wreck of desire for another man, a man who’d paid us for every scrap of his sordid pleasure. A man who hated me. Hated whatever he saw in me. Whatever he thought I stood for.

Hated what we had, here, between us.

But he didn’t hate Grace. Even through his slick asshole composure I could see the glint in his eyes as he watched her. Touched her. Teased her to the edge of fucking insanity and drove her beyond any sane limit she’d ever known.

I watched them with a sickness to my stomach I didn’t think I’d ever heave up and out, even though my dick kept on throbbing. My hands gripped those armrests tight, fighting back the urge to pull my own hard on free and give in to my own fucked-up temptations, but I couldn’t for the life of me shake off the suspicion there was more to this cunt’s offer than one night with my wife. He knew me, from fuck knows where, I had no idea. But watching the way he ravaged my Grace like a dam bursting after a whole fucking lifetime, I knew in the pit of me he knew her too.

He still hadn’t shot his load, not in all these hours. We were still in total refund territory, which was a joke in itself, and one I had no doubt he’d been well aware of when he set up the terms.

The guy was inhuman. Some fucking porn star with balls made of steel. He wasn’t even flustered. Barely a sweat, grunt or gritted teeth as he worked his dick into whichever of my wife’s needy holes he wanted.

She was anything but a porn star. She looked broken, lip trembling with shame and hurt as her body begged him for more.

I’d never have signed up for this. Not for five hundred grand. Not for a million. Or ten million, or all the hotels in the fucking world. And yet my knuckles stayed white as they gripped my seat, my dick straining as I cursed my own sonofabitch body for wanting more. And I did want more. My eyes were open wide as the cunt in front of me lined up my Grace to fuck her tight little asshole, my mouth watering at the thought of her taking him deep and whimpering for more.

The most painful thing about the whole sorry experience?

Not that I hated wanting more, or that Grace was hot for another guy, even through tears. The most painful thing about the whole experience was that he’d known the whole thing was coming. Like a chess master playing with other people’s lives, always one step ahead, shunting the pawns along with checkmate in mind. And that’s what worried me, right now, in the pit of me.

Checkmate.

I didn’t even know what it looked like, but I knew we were heading right there, slipping down the path of his construction, ending unknown.

My wife wouldn’t look at me, eyes shut tight against the shame as she reached around and spread her pretty ass cheeks wide. He spat right down on the puckered ring I knew so well, even if I couldn’t see it, warning her it was gonna hurt as he lined his dick up for entry.

He wasn’t fucking lying.

She grunted and grimaced, tits jiggling free underneath her as she squirmed forward. He had her by the hair, grip firm enough that she wasn’t going anywhere.

I knew this bit at least — the moment where her body protested the invasion. Her motions were like watching behind the scenes footage of one of your favourite childhood movies, your best loved characters living out your best loved scenes from a whole other angle. A far less fucking magical one, but still it got you fired up, like you were peeking in on some secret world you’d been missing out on your whole life.

That’s what this was.

Seeing my Grace’s mouth drop open as his cock stretched her asshole and slammed in to the balls. Seeing the way she rippled as she clenched and loosened, clenched and loosened, adjusting to the girth with a wide open mouth.

I’d seen it, felt it, lived it a thousand times over, but not as he lived it, so detached from the fucking show as he stared down at her with a smile on his face.

He wasn’t fighting, not straining against the urge to unload deep in that dirty hole. Even as Grace fell into her regular rhythm of humping back and demanding more, demanding longer, demanding hard, hard, deep fucking deep, he wasn’t struggling to hold back long enough to give her what she needed.

His eyes met mine over her panting head, and they weren’t even close to the edge.

I was closer to jizzing in my pants than the guy was to spurting his cum in Grace’s gorgeous asshole.

Her pleasure as she realised he could go on forever was a real fucking wonder to behold.

The smile crept slowly on her face, at odds with the state of the rest of her. It was wild, free, lost to everything but the joy of bouncing back on another guy’s dick without time restraint. She bobbed back against him like a fucking trooper, knees shunting and sliding on the plastic sheet underneath, nipples like bullets as those tits bobbed along with her.

And then she came.

Feral, like a wild cat roaring, spitting, cursing. Wailing to him, us, how good it felt, how good he felt, how she was fucking destroyed by the perfect thrusts of a perfect dick inside her asshole.

I’m sure my face was as grim as his was grinning when he pulled himself free and let her fall flat to the mattress. His cock was still as hard as ever. Thick in his grip as he tugged it a few extra times for good measure.

It had to be medication. A whole fucking handful of those little blue pills to see him through the evening. I knew that was macho bullshit reasoning even as it occurred to me. The guy didn’t seem the type to lean on props like that, his smug smirk was all real, and I guessed that’s why it was on his face so often. The kind of bulletproof arrogance that comes with knowing you really are the dog’s bollocks in life.

He leaned back against the windowsill, catching breath he didn’t need to catch as he stared across at us like we were filthy spinning tops waiting to tumble and fall, and it was then that I wondered again where the holy fuck I could know this guy from. He wasn’t the kind you’d miss in passing, even if he was across a bustling street during rush hour commute.

“I think you need a minute,” he told my wife, and she nodded her head gladly. She’d rolled onto her back, limbs spread wide as she gathered her ragged breathing. She was fucked. Beyond fucked. I counted our blessings as I noticed the faint glow of morning light behind Heath’s shoulders in the window.

Seven o’clock couldn’t come fast enough.

I didn’t move a muscle as he headed around the bed and strolled nude in my direction. He shot me a glare before he switched off the sensor, firing it up again right after him as he stepped past me toward the bathroom.

“Piss break,” he said. “Talk amongst yourselves to relieve the boredom.”

I didn’t even acknowledge him. My eyes were all on Grace as he stepped into the en-suite. The door creaked closed behind him but didn’t click shut.

Her eyes were all on me when the first splash of piss in the toilet bowl sounded out, and this time she didn’t close them as the tears came down.