The bedroom is surprisingly spacious, lit up by a cozy lamp next to the bed. There's a huge king-size bed that dominates the space, its headboard propped against the far wall, draped in a luxurious-looking white bed sheet. Dark wood furniture, plush carpet, tasteful lighting.
This is it,
I thought, my heart pounding.
This is where it happens.
"Anything you need, Mike, just let me know," Marcus says, setting my wife gently on her feet.
I can only nod, my throat suddenly feels too dry for words. The air buzzes with anticipation, and it hits me - I'm about to watch my wife have sex with another man... in his fancy bedroom... surrounded by jazz albums on the shelves.
But before I can even begin to process that thought, before I can even ask the questions swirling in my mind, Marcus turns to Emma.
"Arms up, sweetheart."
Emma complies, raising her arms slowly, almost robotically, as if in a trance. He reaches for the hem of her blouse, his fingers casually unbuttoning like he's done it a million times before.
He slips the blouse off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a soft whisper of fabric. She stands before him now, clad only in her lacy black bra and high-waisted skirt, her bare arms exposed, and I feel a twinge of possessiveness, a primal urge to shield her, to hide her from his gaze.
The black lace of her bra does little to conceal the fullness of her breasts, the way they rise and fall with each nervous breath. I can't help but stare at point where the small, dark peaks of her nipples create tiny impressions on the soft material enveloping them.
He captures her lips in another searing kiss.
They kiss like they're starving, bodies pressed together, a tangled mass of limbs and gasps and unspoken need. His hands roam her back, his fingers marking into the soft flesh beneath her blouse, pulling her closer until there's no space left between them.
Then his hands find the straps of her bra, his fingers tangling in the delicate lace.
A sharp ripping sound cuts through the air -- the sound of lace surrendering to his touch. One strap snaps, then another, and the bra falls away, a tangle of silk and satin that lands at my feet with a soft thud.
Marcus doesn't even bother to look down, his attention solely focused on Emma, who's now completely exposed to his gaze, her breasts rising and falling with each tattered breath.
They are full, round, the skin smooth and pale, tipped with dark, hard nipples that pucker invitingly. They're perfect.
Carefully laying her down on the bed, his hands settle on her waist as she sinks into the plush mattress with a soft gasp. Moving closer, their eyes meet, and I'm unable to tear my gaze away as he casually unzips her skirt.
"Lift your hips, sweetheart."
Emma obeys as he slides the skirt down her legs. It pools around her ankles, a forgotten piece of fabric that no longer serves a purpose. Then he removes it gently and tosses it aside.
"Panties too, Emma," Marcus commands, his voice deeper now.
She reaches down, her fingers shaking slightly, and removes the scrap of lace, handing it to him with a hesitant nod.
He brings it to his nose, inhaling deeply, his eyes closed as if savoring her scent.
"You smell incredible."
She's completely naked now, lying on his bed, her body a landscape of curves and shadows in the soft light.
Her pupils are dilated, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed. I've never seen her in such a raw, unguarded state, and the sight of her like this, completely at the mercy of another man, does something to me I can't even describe or name.
It is a foreign feeling.
Marcus glances at me. "Why don't you take a seat, Mike?" he suggests, gently tossing her panties on the floor.
I nod dumbly, my body moving on autopilot as I sink into a nearby chair, my eyes glued to the scene unfolding on the bed.
This is really happening.
And for some reason, I can't bring myself to look away.
But I should, shouldn't I?
His attention snaps back to my wife, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face.
She smiles back, her cheeks glowing warmly with a warmth that fills the room.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, my jeans suddenly feeling unbearably tight. My cock throbs, hard and aching, and I have to clench my thighs together to try and relieve the pressure.
This is insane.
I'm watching my wife get ready to fuck another man, and instead of wanting to stop it, a part of me -- a growing, insistent part -- just wants to...
watch
.
As if reading my mind, Emma's hand drifts down to her chest, her fingers lightly massaging the underside of her breasts. She spreads her leg apart slowly exposing the wetness between her folds to Marcus's hungy gaze.
He smiles and just savors the delicious sight and then begins to undress. He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly to the side, revealing a chest and abdomen that are surprisingly sculpted for a man his age.
Then, he unzips his pants, pushing them down his legs with a swift, fluid movement. He isn't wearing any underwear.
My eyes are drawn instantly to his cock. It's even bigger than I remember -- thick and veined, the head already glistening with arousal.
The sight of it -- so large, so dark, so undeniably
male
-- sends a wave of that similar foreign feeling crashing through me. Again for god's sake, I can't describe it. I can't put it into words.
I glance at Emma, who's staring at it too, her eyes glazed, her lips parted in a silent gasp. One hand is now stroking her clit, her fingers moving rhythmically over her folds as she drinks in his impressive erection.
There's a flicker of fear in her eyes, a momentary hesitation, but it's quickly overshadowed by anticipation.
She is scared,
I can tell.
But she is also undeniably turned on.
Marcus moves closer, his dark body standing out against the white sheets, his cock swaying slightly with each step.
Emma's gaze never wavers, her breath catching in her throat as he reaches the edge of the bed and settles onto one knee, giving her an unobstructed view of his erection.
He reaches for her breasts, his hands large and dark against the pale skin of her chest. He massages them gently, his thumbs circling her nipples. Emma arches into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.
"Ohh...."
He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch surprisingly tender for a man about to...
My mind struggles to find the right word, the right way to process the scene unfolding before me.
Emma's lips part again, but no sound emerges. She's completely captivated, lost in the sensation of his hands on her body, in the sight of his cock, huge and pulsating, inches from her face.
I clench my fists, my own erection throbbing painfully against my fly. Seeing them like that -- her porcelain skin against his dark hands, the beautiful contrast of their different colored bodies --stirs up jolt of pure, primal lust through me, a charge so powerful it makes me dizzy.
I've never seen anything like it. Never felt anything like it.
It's exciting, terrifying, and deeply, undeniably arousing all at the same time.
Marcus's hand inches closer, his touch a feather-light whisper against her inner thigh. When his fingers brush against the dampness between her folds, Emma's eyes dart to mine, a flicker of uncertainty in their depths.
"Mike?" she whispers, her voice laced with a mixture of desire and something that sounds suspiciously like fear.
It's as if she's begging me to pull the emergency brake, to stop this runaway train before it hurtles off the tracks.
My heart pounds in my ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoes the throbbing in my groin. My mouth is dry, my throat tight. I know I should say something, do something, but the words catch in my throat, choked by the sheer intensity of the moment.
Marcus watches me intently, his gaze unwavering. When I don't speak, when I don't move, he takes it as tacit approval. A slow smile curves his mouth as he turns back to Emma, his hand closing over her sex.
"Jesus," Emma breathes, her back arching off the bed as his touch sends a jolt of pleasure through her.
He strokes her slowly, rhythmically, his fingers gliding through her slick folds. Her legs part further, opening for him, inviting him in. She's completely lost, in the feel of his touch but even in her haze of arousal, she's still looking at me for...
what
?
Permission? Reassurance? Absolution?
"Mike, this is..." Her words disintegrate into a soft moan as his fingers slide deeper.
I offer her a small, encouraging smile, and the uncertainty in her eyes melts away, replaced by a potent mix of desire and abandon.
She too must have thought my silence meant that I am okay. Or maybe, in the heat of the moment, she was too caught up, her body responding automatically.
It's like a switch has flipped inside her, a silent agreement made.
She's all in.
"That's it, dear," Marcus murmurs, his voice a husky growl.
He alternates between stroking her sensitive flesh, slipping a finger inside her, and circling her clit with a maddening precision that has her writhing beneath him.
"Ughhhh.....Ufff......."
She's panting, clutching the sheets as pleasure keeps hitting her in relentless waves.
Then, with a groan, Marcus pushes himself off the bed and drops to his knees near the edge of the bed. His hands cup her ass, lifting her slightly, and then he's burying his face between her legs, his tongue swirling her clit.
