Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Author’s Note : This grew and grew as I wrote it, but it should be worth your time: literally half the word count is taken up by sex scenes, to say nothing of kinky angst and dirty talk sprinkled throughout… and it builds up to a LOOOONG extended climax that took almost a month to get right.
It’s been a while since Part 1, so this chapter opens with a quick recap of what came before.
Part 1 was a story about seduction and infidelity, with a little cuckold fantasy thrown in; this one is a story focused on the growth of that cuckold fantasy as it spins out of control. There’s plenty of angst, some taunting he inched by the couch, by my sleeping fiancé, holding his shoes in his hand for maximum stealth. (Oh look, it’s more guilt: we’re literally sneaking around behind my boyfriend’s back. Because we’re so awful.) I ushered Dylan out and that gorgeous, cocky bastard had the nerve to pull me in for a kiss in the doorway, barely if at all blocked from anyone on the couch who might happen to wake up. After a split-second’s worth of hesitation I returned his goddamned kiss, accepting both the sensual delight of his embrace and the fresh wave of shame that lodged itself behind my eyes. Why don’t you just put that over here, with the rest of the shame. You’ve got a nice little pile going, Chelsea.
Finally he was gone and I was free to do what I wanted most in the whole world right then: wallow in self-loathing. Fresh ammunition for that self-loathing just kept showing up. For instance, as I walked back towards Mark, I realized that I couldn’t even nudge him awake and bring him to sleep in his own bed next to his own future wife. We’d straightened up the bedroom as much as possible, but the room probably still reeked of debauched, illicit, heartbreaking, and wickedly glorious sex. I had given Dylan everything, but I gave the love of my life the couch.
I got into the shower, where I enjoyed that self-pitying crying jag I’d been looking forward to. You ruined it, you’re weak, you’re stupid, you ruined it, just going around and around in my head like a chorus of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” I didn’t bother trying to snap myself out of that torturous cycle. I wanted it to hurt, the more the better. I needed to get a head start on my penance.
Mark
I was so annoyed at myself for falling asleep on the couch like I did. Partly just because it’s rude when you have company over, but mostly due to the fact that it cost me the chance jump Chelsea after giresun escort that show she put on for me.
And, god, what a show it was. Act 1 was simply the outfit she changed into for the occasion — form-fitting, skin-exposing, libido-firing beauty, so unlike what she normally wears.
“Wow,” I blurted out when I saw her. “That’s a hell of a getup.”
“What, this old thing? I guess it is a little revealing.” She was feeling playful. “Oh no, wait, you don’t think it sends the wrong message, do you? I certainly hope it doesn’t inspire our guest to do something inappropriate. That would be soooo awkward, I don’t know if I could handle it…”
She sat down beside me and twirled her finger around my ear, still with that fake-innocent expression, and kept up her act. “Thank goodness I have my big, strong man here to defend my honor in case he gets a little fresh. You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you, honey?” At this point she started lightly caressing the outside my crotch and leaned in for a kiss. God, I knew we’d had fun roleplaying the other night, but Chelsea was even more turned on by this whole scene than I thought — feeling the rapidly stiffening lump in my pants only added to it and a visible little jolt seemed to run through her. She broke the kiss after a minute and eyed me with a more sober look on her face (although I noticed her hand was still dancing across the outside of my pants).
“But seriously, folks,” she said. “He’ll be here in like 20 minutes. Do you want me to go change? I don’t have to lead him on tonight if you’re not really into it.”
In truth, I had been feeling a little anxious about our whole “whatever happens, happens” plan for the evening. Playing around with the idea of letting Dylan feel her up was intensely arousing when it was just the two of us — I mean, almost distressingly hot — but the reality of letting it happen again in real life, right in front of me, and even inviting it as Chelsea seemed eager to do… it was giving me a case of the yips. What would Dylan think of me? Hell, what would *I* think of me? Weren’t we moving awfully fast?
But then there was Chelsea. She’d gotten off on the idea so hard the past few days. She’d taken the initiative in choosing that outfit. And the fact that she kept on fondling me even as she asked this serious question said everything about what she hoped my answer would be, like she was trying to get me to think with my yalova escort dick. It was kinda working, and also I didn’t want to be the guy who busted up the party before it really got fun. I didn’t want to disappoint her.
“Nope, I’m still up for it if you are. I admit I’m a little nervous, but… yeah, good to go. You aren’t nervous at all?”
“Hmmmm… teensy bit, haha.” She laughed and held up her fingers in a pinch. “But listen, how about this: if Dylan does try anything and it gets too much for you, just give me a signal and I’ll gently let him know to knock it off. You just, like, look at me and scratch your nose. Got it?”
Yes, I got it. We snuggled on the couch and watched TV while waiting for Dylan’s arrival, but of course all I could think about was what might be about to happen. I turned it over in my head, and I almost had myself convinced that he wouldn’t really try anything tonight, not with me right next to him. Then there was a knock at the door, we opened it, and with one look at the giddy leer Dylan gave Chelsea I knew I’d been kidding myself. We greeted him and I turned to lead us out to the living room.
It’s crazy the tricks our brains can play on us. I was so keyed up and on-alert for signs of flirting between my girlfriend and our guest. I know I heard them say something to each other behind me, and I’m pretty sure it had to do with Chelsea’s outfit. What it sounded like was Dylan whispering, “So, you wore it for me after all?” and Chelsea shushing him because I was “right there.” I mean, that couldn’t actually be what they said, but it sure is what I heard. I was just so primed to hear something naughty, and that’s what my brain came up with.
After that, right from the start of the night, we were off to the races. When I’d pictured this whole thing, I imagined that Chelsea would take it slow, be coy, make it subtle — but I guess she was more ready for this adventure I’d realized. And I imagined Dylan being cagey, trying to avoid my noticing like the last time — but I guess when he caught on to the way Chelsea was leading him on, that went right out the window.
The first thing Chelsea did after greeting our guest was to grab a few beers for us before the workout. She made a show of trying to find them in the fridge, bending over to check the bottom shelf with her ass pointing right at us. I gulped, suddenly very anxious about how fast and how flagrant this was. I glanced yozgat escort over at Dylan and he had his eyes locked onto my girlfriend, enjoying the show; I watched his face slowly morph into a smug grin that almost made me want to call the whole thing off right there.
Back in the living room, chatting, Chelsea was lying on the couch; her feet were in my lap, but all her attention was on Dylan. At one point she did this big stretch that made her tits visibly strain against her top, and also made the top ride up and reveal even more of her belly. Conversation stopped as Dylan watched the show — Chelsea turned her head to look at him just in time to catch him readjusting his shorts, and I saw them share a cheeky, naughty look that dropped my heart into my stomach with a thud and made my dick twitch against her feet. This was merely the start of the evening, a preamble, and I was wondering exactly what I’d signed up for.
I learned quickly enough once we finished our beers and the workout tutorial began. I wasn’t quite ignored, but it was clearly the Dylan it’s just that whatever was going on between them was so much more interesting than anything I had to say and it drew all of their attention. And mine.
It was the same routine I’d watched them play out on the video footage a couple months back, but on steroids. The same kind of barely-plausible groping disguised as training, only now they didn’t care about getting caught, so furtive touches became lingering ones. Dylan would reach over from behind Chelsea and reposition her with his hands, and then they’d just stay like that for a while… basically hugging, pressed up against each other, carrying on a conversation with their lips an inch apart.
Their contact was also more daring than that first time. I lost count of how many times Dylan’s hand made contact with the underside of my girlfriend’s boobs — or damn near on top of them, or right on her ass, or the inside of her thigh as he lifted her leg to stretch it — and then stayed there.
And the flirty banter. Sooo many compliments passing back I reached down to grab it while Mark was frantically licking my earlobe (?!) and I could tell, even through the fabric, that he was as hard as he’d ever been in his life.
Oh!, how I loved feeling that hard dick right then. Because, first: hard dick, yum. But more than that it meant he was happy, and if I make him that happy then I’m not *just* the horrible cheating slut who’d risk her marriage to get creampied by some cocky stud. For the first time all day, I giggled in joy.
“Heheheh, oh my god, babe! Are you seriously this horned up over last night? Still??”
Mark nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s embarrassing, and my stomach was in knots the whole time, but… that was just the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32