Brett

 

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to pat him on the back for his steel balls, or rip them clean off him as he launched into a polished monologue detailing exactly what he wanted to do to my Grace.

The prick had the upper hand and we both knew it. Hated it, but knew it all the same.

If we wanted fifty grand of his dirty cash to save our hotel, we’d have to keep our mouths shut and give him enough to keep him satisfied. As much as I wanted to let him walk away, I couldn’t. Not with Grace so desperate to make this place our home. Not with so many sleepless nights where she cried body-wracking sobs into her pillow and hoped I wouldn’t hear her.

I clenched my fists hard under the table as we listened to his filth, loosening them only slightly as Grace’s hand slipped under the table and folded over mine.

I couldn’t let myself picture the reality of the things he had in mind. Dare not imagine the guy opposite with his dick thrust balls deep down my wife’s throat while she retched and choked with tears streaming down her pretty face. Shouldn’t even contemplate the prospect of him stretching her tight little asshole wide open and filling the soft pink gape with his filthy cum. That and his tongue, his dick, his whole fucking fist if he had his fucking way.

We shouldn’t be doing this, not for all the dreams in the world, not at the cost of even a scrap of her self-respect.

I tore my glare from him as he took a breath, chancing a look at my wife to gauge her reaction before stepping in and casting off this craziness for good, but the sight of her knocked me sideways.

Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted just enough for me to know she was fighting her ragged breaths for calm. But it wasn’t fear or disgust that had her senses reeling. It wasn’t even nerves.

I knew my wife plenty well enough to know when she was trying to subdue her excitement at something she was worried I wouldn’t approve of.

Expensive curtains on the credit card, a great deal on a five star holiday during a time we shouldn’t be taking leave from work, a pair of shoes she didn’t have room for in her closet but wanted all the same.

Multiply that exasperated silence tenfold and you still wouldn’t be close to the way she was staring dumbstruck at the man opposite.

I knew it then, in that terrible heartbeat, that on some level she wanted to spend the night with him. She’d never admit it, not in this lifetime. I doubted she’d even admit it to herself, maybe not even late at night when she played with herself thinking I was deep asleep at her side.

She didn’t need to admit it, I could feel the truth with every bone in my body.

What was most concerning of all was that I could feel it in my fucking boner as well.

Of all the things I’d ever expected to get a hard on over, this was scraping the dregs of the unimaginable. A pompous prick, with an ocean more cash than decency, talking about fucking my wife on my own fucking property while I watched should have been enough for me to kick the dickhead out on his posh boy ass before hearing another word of it.

But it was there regardless, the unapologetic biological truth throbbing in my pants under my clenched fists. My balls tight and angry and begging to fucking blow as he asked us if we’d ever explored bondage and submission.

It was like he was asking how we liked our red wine. The guy didn’t blanche for even a second at the intrusion.

Grace answered before I had the chance.

“No,” she said. “At least, not really. Not seriously.”

I remembered back to our early days when I’d once tied her wrists with my tie and given her ass a slap for the fun of it. I hadn’t thought she’d wanted more, not in all the years since. Hadn’t considered repeating the experience with a little more clout than I had after a couple too many beers after a work night out.

“We’ve done plenty of things,” I grunted, hating how defensive I sounded.

Grace shrunk back in her seat a little, her fingers squeezing mine under the table in some weird unnecessary apology.

The prick flashed another of those cocky grins I wanted to smash from his face. “I’m hardly a relationship counsellor. Your intimate dynamics are of no interest to me. I’m simply trying to gauge your experience level.”

“She’s had plenty of practice,” I told him.

“I’m sure,” he said, clearly not believing it.

I hoped he’d last ten minutes in bed before shooting his load in a miserable dribble and failing to get it up for a repeat. I hoped he was all mouth and no bollocks to go along with it, but I knew I wouldn’t be holding my breath.

You don’t find self-assurance of that calibre in someone struggling with staying power.

Nor in someone with a small dick.

My gut twisted at the thought I’d see it in glorious fucking detail, threatening to bring up the food I’d grabbed during my breakfast chef run, yet still my cock throbbed down below, at odds with everything I thought I stood for.

I didn’t want another man to fuck my wife. I’d never in the whole time I’d known her wanted to see her with someone else. Never even thought about it.

“I won’t make you take my fist unless you ask me for it,” he said, grabbing my attention right back again.

“I won’t be asking for it,” she said in a beat. “I’ll be taking what you insist and nothing more.”

I’d have believed her before breakfast. I still wanted to believe her now.

I hated that I didn’t.

I hated the shy smile she flashed me, seeking reassurance.

She really did have no idea that she wanted this.

“My wife won’t be taking your fist,” I told him. “You’ll realise that soon enough when Tuesday night comes. She isn’t like the cheap whores you probably pick up in the city.”

He laughed as though the idea was ridiculous. “I don’t use whores, Mr Foster.”

“I don’t give a shit what you do,” I responded. “I’m just telling you that my wife isn’t some kind of cheap slut who could take a horse and ask for more. She’s not that kind of woman.”

He leaned across at me. “With all due respect,” he said, “I’ll gauge for myself what kind of woman your wife is. I think she may surprise you.”

“Don’t fucking count on it,” I growled, and he shrugged as though I was a fucking moron.

I knew then that I’d break his jaw if there wasn’t fifty grand on the table.

“Does that conclude the fine print?” he asked, and I met his gaze deadpan.

“Get your rocks off however you want,” I warned, “but the minute Grace calls my name and says she’s changed her mind, it’ll be game over. Push her too far and it’s all out the fucking window.”

“And what about you, Grace?” His attention landed on my wife’s wide eyes and I felt a fresh bout of desire to wring his neck, fifty grand be fucked. “How do you feel about the conditions?”

Her shrug was barely visible. “I’ll take whatever you want,” she said. “As long as I physically can and it’s within the allotted hours. It’s a service, you’re paying well for it.”

I wasn’t expecting his outstretched hand across the table, ready to shake on this fucked up deal. Mine were so clammy in fists that I had to wipe them down before making a move to accept the handshake, but Grace had reached hers out between us before I had the opportunity.

“Just one more thing,” she said, and her voice was breathy with the nerves she’d done so well to keep close to her chest. “Why Tuesday? Why not tonight? The sooner the better, in my opinion. No point keeping it hanging over our heads, right?”

She had a point. The sooner this was done and the asshole was gone, the better, but the shake of his head put paid to that concept.

“No good, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’m expecting some deliveries.” He tipped his perfectly preened head in her direction. “Plus, I’m very much enjoying my stay here. You really do have a corner of paradise. I’m glad you opted to keep hold of it.”

“Deliveries?” she quizzed, caring shit for the compliment.

“Of the private kind,” he elaborated. “You’ll be able to admire my purchases up close on Tuesday evening.”

He offered his hand afresh, this time directly to her.

I watched her dainty fingers grip his with hate spitting in my gut.

“Oh, one final thing,” he added, still holding tight. “I insist on no protection. I trust you are on the pill? I assure you I’m clean, I can get my latest medical emailed over if required.”

I don’t know why the thought of him riding her bareback was the final straw that broke my back, but I got up from my seat with a face like death, grunting that we were done with the fucking small print before heading back to the kitchen, angling myself to make sure that neither of them caught sight of the swell of my dick as I went.

I didn’t wait for Grace to join me before I headed further on through to the back bathroom.

I couldn’t stand her seeing me like this. Couldn’t bear the thought of admitting that something about this fucked up filth made me hard. It left me one option, and one option only.

It was the angriest fucking hand job of my life.