Hey everyone - Thanks to folks who said they wanted more from this series! Here's my shot at it; I'm not sure how successful it is, to be honest, but I tried to change it up some. Please read "The Fantasy List, Ch. 01" and "Ch. 02" for the plot to make sense - I don't think the kink will come across here if you don't have the context of those two stories. All characters are older than 18 years old, as always. And again, we're going really heavy on the cuckold kink here, in a harsh, humiliating way that is much more fantasy than reality, so please just keep that in mind! That said, even though it is fantasy...let's hope it's filthy fucking hot fantasy.
***
The bedroom smelled like sex, although not any sex Clyde had taken part in. It smelled like Marcus's cologne and Abria's arousal and Marcus's cum and a mix of sweat and the duct tape Marcus must have used to bind her wrists.
Not that Clyde would have known how that had actually played out. He'd been downstairs cleaning the kitchen up after breakfast while he'd listened to them fuck: her moans and his deeper, lower grunts; the protests of his and Abria's marital bed as they shook it; the sharp smack of his hand against her ass.
He winced at the thought as he stripped the blankets and sweaty top-sheet from the bed. He still had the video footage of Marcus spanking Abria -- putting her over his knee and ripping down those hot denim shorts -- seared onto the surface of his mind. He doubted he'd ever forget it. His penis strained against its stainless steel chastity prison at the memory alone.
But none of it changed the fact that Abria had made clear she wanted him to clean up the bedroom once she and Marcus were done fucking, and once they'd stepped into the shower. She wanted new sheets on the bed too. And she also wanted him to answer the door if anyone stopped by. Play everything off as normal; no sense in the neighbors knowing about the crazy shit going on in this house before noon on a Sunday.
And he could hear the shower going now; he could hear their muffled laughter and conversation and the slap of the water on the tile between those sounds.
He started with the used condoms, tossed without a care onto the bed's fitted sheet, already dark with stains. He tossed the condoms in the decorative metal trashcan in the corner, then looked back at the bed. Then he reached for the lacy panties Abria had worn last night, and this morning at breakfast, and during this most recent fucking. They were still damp, but also just the slightest bit stiff with her fluids. He glanced back at the door of the master bathroom to make sure it was closed -- it was -- and then he raised the panties to his nose for a sniff.
Like everything else, they smelled more like Marcus than just Abria. He tossed them in the laundry basket at his feet.
He reached across the bed and loosed one of the fitted sheet's corners, and his senses again filled with the musky scent of Abria and Marcus's union as he did. He winced, felt a short jolt to his aching blue balls as he pulled the sheet off and scooped it up with the other bedclothes. He dumped it in the basket then took it by the handles and headed downstairs as Abria laughed -- especially loud -- at something Marcus had said he couldn't hear.
He made his way back downstairs and into the small laundry room off the front entrance of the house. He dropped the laundry into the washing machine, threw in a healthy dollop of detergent, and started the load. Then he reached into the linen cabinet above the washing machine and dryer for a fresh set of bedsheets. Abria had made clear she expected fresh sheets on the bed after the shower.
For, Clyde had to assume, the next round of sex.
He made it to the living room and was headed for the stairs when he heard the doorbell.
He froze, then scowled.
Of course this would happen. Of course Abria and Marcus had planned something out. He just didn't know what.
He paused, waited for whoever it was to leave. The room was quiet enough that he could hear the muffled, faraway sounds of the shower still ongoing above the slow tick of the clock on the mantlepiece. If the person rang again...
The person rang again.
"Fuck," Clyde whispered, and set the new sheets on the couch. He crossed the living room and put a hand on the door handle. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and opened the door.
Selena Carnes stood on the front doorstep, looking for all the world like she'd just come form church on a spring Sunday morning. Or, rather, Clyde reminded himself, Selena *Monroe* stood on his front doorstep looking for all the world like she'd just come from church on a spring Sunday morning. She'd finally divorced her husband a few months ago, if social media was any indication.
And, he also realized, maybe Selena really *had* just arrived from church. He didn't know if she was the church type, but the whole time he'd known her and worked with her at his last job she was, maybe, one of the quietest, most careful and conservative-speaking people in the office. Even the asshole architects who hadn't left their frat bro roots far behind when they moved into professional life felt uncomfortable talking about her to each other.
Not that they didn't want to. Selena Monroe was drop-dead gorgeous, with her trademark hairbands (today a blue plaid piece) and those big dark eyes you physically felt on you when you made eye contact with her. And she knew it too -- her blouses and dresses always came up to the neck, and her skirts always fell below the knee; every outfit she wore she topped with a necklace her asshole fiancé had given her. She brought him up all the time too, talked about waiting for marriage to have sex and everything else.
And today, Clyde noted, although she did have another necklace at her throat, it wasn't the one from her now-ex-husband.
Back when they'd worked together, crasser men would only sigh in frustration that someone as beautiful as Selena would have the temerity to cover up the way she did, as if they were entitled to her body. The same guys, though, also thought Clyde was a pussy because of his soft negotiation style, something they never had an answer for when he closed big deals. Selana wasn't a negotiator by title -- she was a contracts lawyer -- but that meant that she and Clyde probably worked closer together than anyone else, and, he sensed, they knew each other better than anyone else had in that toxic office.
"Your work wife," Abria had jokingly called her once, but Abria and Selena were friends too, different was they were.
And maybe that tracked. Maybe given how dominant Abria was -- even in her friendships -- and how submissive Selena was (at least on the surface) it worked.
And maybe it explained why she was on their doorstep this morning.
Clyde swallowed hard.
"S-Selena," Clyde said. "God, it's been so long. What...what are you doing here?"
She smiled. "Hey Clyde," she said, and stepped over the threshold to embrace him. It wasn't the first time -- Selena hugged her friends from time to time -- but it *was* the first time he'd hugged her in chastity. He shifted his weight, tried to make sure she couldn't feel the cage, but at the same time that cage grew incredibly tight. "You look so good. It's great to see you."
Same perfume, same shampoo, even. Clyde felt like a creep for knowing that, but they'd spent so much time together finalizing deals in the back rooms of office buildings after hours and locking in the precise wording on settlement agreements and contracts that he recognized it. And even though he hadn't thought about it -- hadn't thought much about Selena Monroe at all -- for years, the smell still took him back. He could see the same coffee-stained hardwood table they'd had in the back conference room, could still hear the buzz of the aging light above them.
And yeah, maybe he *had* had a bit of a crush on her back then too, OK? But if you had a pulse and you were even mildly into women (maybe even if you weren't), you probably had a crush on Selena Monroe.
"It's great to see you too," Clyde said. "You look great as well. How long's it been? And sorry...please come in."
He stepped aside and let her into the entryway,
"I don't think we've seen each other in person since you took the new job," she said. "I don't think I've been to you and Abria's house before either, but it's beautiful. You made it to West Galina City, like you were always saying you and Abria wanted to do."
"We did, yeah," Clyde said, and stepped into the kitchen. "More because of Abria's salary than because of mine."
"I doubt that," Selena said. "I wish you could have heard how much they talked about how hard it would be to fill your spot after you left. Chaz and Keith and all those jerks who were so mean to you -- they were scrambling."
Clyde grinned into the pint glass as he filled it first with ice and then water. He hadn't known that at all. Nor was he someone who generally indulged in schadenfreude much.
But this was fucking delicious.
He brought her the glass of water.
"But you got out not too long after I did, right?" He asked.
"I did," she said, and took the glass from him. "Thanks so much for the water. I'm...parched."
She took a sip.
"I got a job at Galina City Hall," she said. "I'm going to be their head attorney, starting in about a week."
Clyde just about dropped the glass he'd wanted to fill with water for himself.
"Holy *fuck* Selena," he said, and then paused. "Sorry. I know you don't cuss."
