This narrative is part of a multi-part story that explores the sexual exploits of a Midwestern couple who wanted a change in locale, but are experiencing much, much more.
Warning: subject matter includes hotwife/cuckold/group sex topics. This story is tagged as such, so if you do not care for these types of tales, move on. You are your only enemy if you continue reading.
Those that do choose to continue, please know reading previous chapters will help you better understand the characters and their journey.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Anything depicted has no relation to past or current people and events. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are over 18.
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February 9th. Thirteen days to go.
The cold, peaceful early Iowan morning was shattered as fifteen hundred cubic centimeters of pure Harley-Davidson power roared to life. Inside one of the residences on the idyllic street, Corey Miller sat upright in bed, eyes nudged open by the sudden POP-POP-POP of the idling engine.
For a moment, he couldn't quite place where he was. Squinting in the pre-dawn darkness, he began to recognize Caroline's old bedroom, then glanced down at his phone.
Half past six. What the fuck?
Tossing off a pink, frilly comforter, the red eyed father stumbled to the window and looked down at the cul-de-sac. There beneath him, flooded in orange sodium vapor, a shadowy figure on a large bike walked the machine backwards into the street, put it in gear, and zoomed out of sight.
Zane Picardo
.
As the fog of sleep slowly dissipated, Corey recalled it was Friday.
Of course, must be headed to the garage.
While the remnants of the motorcycle rumbling faded in the distance, situational awareness began to pepper his consciousness.
Zane...Caroline's bedroom...morning.
Corey saw the frown of his reflection looking back at him in the frosty window.
It all made sense now.
Zane and Lauren had been out drinking.
Corey joined them.
All three came back to their house.
The mechanic had spent the night.
...and thoroughly fucked my wife.
+++++
Goddamnit, Picardo!
the biker shook his head as freezing winds buffeted him and Bessy.
Just couldn't keep your dick under control, could you?
With a crusty mixture of Lauren's juices and semen still stuck to his very cold penis, Zane cursed a profound lack of willpower and good judgment. The first time he'd been with his best friend's wife was arguably not his fault. Okay, sure, maybe a better friend would have dragged her ass out of Freddie's restroom, given her his bed, then slept elsewhere. But he'd been unaware of the Miller's game at the time, she'd thrown himself at him, and he was way lit.
I mean, what's a guy to do?
But this time he knew exactly what he'd gotten himself into and did nothing to stop it. That made him as complicit as anyone. And let's face it, he didn't take Lauren out on a date to perpetuate Corey's kink. He'd done it to get another taste of that glorious pussy.
At the end of the day, what did that say about him?
+++++
Furrowed forehead against the windowsill, patchy memories of the previous evening began to reconstruct themselves in bits and pieces. Playing second fiddle to his best friend, being a third wheel to Lauren's date, being outed in a bar. If that hadn't been enough, he had to endure being blue-balled by his own wife in favor of his lifelong buddy. AND the guy purposely spilled his seed over her wedding ring, a symbol of undying love repurposed to one of affront.
Yesteryear's Corey would not have stood for it. One minute after seeing their amorous behavior in the honky-tonk, Zane would have had a fist in his face. Two minutes after that, the biker and his coworkers would have kicked his ass, but at least Corey would have taken his shot.
Now, of course, the dynamic was different. The fetish had grown from fantasy to reality, and while Lauren continued to spiral out of control with her newly encouraged freedom, so did Corey, the kink exercising a grip akin to any drug addiction. He not only
wanted
to experience the things Lauren was enabling but was also beginning to
need
it. The thrill was ever elusive now, harder to chase. At first, he was content with Lauren dressing sexier. Then it was flirting, watching her have sex, and recently, a penchant for being humiliated. What was next?
Whatever it was, his wife and best friend seemed willing to take him there.
+++++
Indeed, that addiction was the chief reason he hadn't stopped last night's show on the couch; why he hadn't broken into the master bedroom. Resigned to being locked out, he had slid down the door on his back, drink tray in hand, and listened intently. With cupped ears, he had tried to catch anything that would give him a clue as to what was going on in
his
room.
His
bed.
His
sheets.
There had been giggles, then passionate sighs, followed by more giggles.
'So handsome...
'
'So beautiful...'
'You like that?'
'Mmmm, Jesus, you do that so well...'
More sighs, gasps, perfervid moans.
While carrying their drinks upstairs a mere five hours ago, Corey had been so sure he was going to get lucky too. Although he knew his friend was better equipped, with far more stamina, the threesome with Max the Miami bar owner only months ago had gone quite well, so the older man had figured 'why not'?
But that was then, and now the shunned project manager had found himself on the outside listening in, one hand bending an earlobe, the other clasped around a growing erection.
There had been rustling, then more whispering voices that seemed to be just on the other side of the door.
'
What do you think he's doing?'
Zane had asked.
'Probably jacking off,'
Lauren had chuckled.
Corey remembered looking down at the hand stroking his withered penis and drawing a breath.
More giggles, mere inches away through the white panels.
'Enough about him, are you going to fuck me, or what?'
'Get in bed, bitch.'
For the next several minutes, Corey sat on the floor, in the hallway, back against the door and tugging on his cock while listening to the naughty sounds of foreplay. He couldn't always make out what the two were saying, but the sloppy kisses were unmistakable. And there
were
the occasional snippets.
'
Right there...'
'Oh, shit, yes, make love to me...'
Gradually pillow talk gave way to random, impassioned moans. As the creaking bed became brisker, so did their fervent cries, crescendo after crescendo, until yelps of mutual climaxes were clearly heard through the paneled wood. Then...nothing.
Sliding up the door to his feet, cock dangling from rumpled trousers, Corey had left the tray of drinks outside the master chambers and staggered across the hallway into Caroline's old bedroom. A blast from the past, the couple had kept it the same as when their daughter moved out so she could relive memories when visiting.
But Corey was not into waxing nostalgic, especially right then. Hurrying passed framed photos and momentos on the way to her bathroom, he had barely flipped up the floral lace toilet seat cover when he came, one hand on his dick, the other making a fist which he bit to suppress the sound of his orgasm. Below, small jets of ejaculate shot into the porcelain bowl below, clotting in the water, then dispersing.
Exhausted, the besieged graying wittol had slowly made his way toward Caroline's decidedly froufrou bed, shedding clothing along the way, not caring where they landed. Climbing in, wearing just his briefs, Corey's evening concluded when he pulled the frilly blankets over his head and fell into a fitful sleep.
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Lauren's night, of course, had finished quite differently. Both her and Zane were well oiled before Corey ever arrived at the bar, and this only served to fuel their behavior. She knew she had pushed her husband at Shady's with the bait and switch. 'Dinner with a friend' had become 'Drinks with a date', but hoped her conduct would supply the nurturing he needed. True, outing him had not been planned, yet in the moment, it seemed like a devilishly roguish way to pull his levers. And from the looks of things, it had worked.
Nor had she planned on locking him out of the bedroom, just after asking him to bring them drinks. But she could tell Zane had been a little weirded out by them having sex in front of Corey on the couch. Besides, Corey had mentioned several times how hot it was listening to her fuck. Of course, there was no way of really knowing how that affected him until morning, she told herself while brushing Zane's cum out of her mouth. The sun would come up soon enough.
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As the big bike faded into the dawn, Corey turned from the window and looked across his daughter's bedroom. All along the dresser were various pictures of the family. He and the girls on fishing trips; Cee and her mom on softball and soccer outings; Lauren exuding that perfect PTA mother and wife persona. The one that used to exist BC, or 'before cuck' as she had taken to calling it. As sick as it sounded, these are the photos he masturbated to while sounds of his wife being pummeled for the countless time echoed across the way. Even he couldn't deny crossing the line when cumming on a framed photo of Lauren and Caroline hugging each other. How depraved it must have looked, his aging body kneeling on his daughter's mattress, milking hot jizz out of his withered cock onto their faces. Still, the climax experienced was simply beyond words.
Making a mental note to wash the soiled purple sheets, Corey stepped across the hallway and put his ear to the door of the master bedroom, listening carefully. Hearing nothing, he tried the knob, which turned easily, unlike the night before. With little effort, it swung open to the rosy first fingers of a rising sun falling on the king bed.
His
bed. Their marital bed. The bed where his buddy had just subjected Corey's wife to untold debauchery. And somewhere beneath the covers was Lauren, snoring quietly as she slept off a night of drinking and cocksucking.
Stealthily creeping closer until standing at the headboard, he peered down at the petite lump, the blanket gently rising and falling with each breath. Only a nose was visible, poking through that dark mane of hair, which appeared dirty and matted. The smell of sweat and semen hung in the air, removing any doubt of the fornication that had occurred. A quick flick of the sheets uncovered Lauren's body, nude except for a pair of woolly socks undoubtedly donned sometime during the night to keep her feet warm.
Corey drank in the lithe body, now coated with Zane's dried cum.
Jesus Christ.
