It was a little past noon when Kyle finally returned to the farmhouse, pulling himself up the porch steps with the aid of the banister. He felt deeply relieved when he found the door unlocked, meaning both that his wife was still at home, and that he was able to avoid the hassle of retrieving his keys and unlocking the door with filthy hands. He made a beeline for the kitchen, washing soil, grass and other assorted bits of stray grime from his hands and forearms, before turning around and leaning back against the kitchen counter to catch his breath.
"Cass?" he called out, wondering - after a glass of cold water - where his wife had disappeared to. It didn't take a master detective to figure out that something was up, at any rate; there was a pitcher of Cassandra's homemade lemonade on the dinner table by the window, flanked by two half-full (or half-empty, depending on your disposition) glasses. Feeling a faint tingle of apprehension in his stomach, he pushed himself off the counter and played sleuth some more; Cassandra's shoes stood on the doormat. Kyle's stomach practically turned over when he saw the large pair of unfamiliar boots next to it.
He swore under his breath. For all the sickening fear in his stomach, however, he could not deny the fact that his prick was swiftly making his jeans a little less loose fitting. Turning around, he headed upstairs slowly, careful not to make too much noise. He stepped onto the landing and approached the master bedroom, his heart pounding against his ribcage as though trying to escape - its pace matched closely by the soft thudding of headboard against wall, and the creak of box springs under duress.
The door was slightly ajar, as if someone had started to close it, then thought better of it. It did mean, however, that Kyle was relatively certain that whoever was in the bedroom would not be able to see him if he peered inside. Stomach knotted with mixed excitement and apprehension, he stepped forwards to do just that.
At first, all he could see was a toned back and a pair of broad shoulders, topped by shaggy dark hair, but then the man shifted slightly and he could see Cass: On her back, her large, round tits exposed so that the faint freckles on her pale skin were visible in the sunlight coming from the window. Her green eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open in a groan of pleasure, indicating - together with the way the roots of her red hair were dark with sweat - that the couple had been going for a while.
"Fuck, Alex, your cock feels so good." Cass looked up, an eager smile on her lips, and everything clicked into place. Alex, the neighbours' moody nineteen-year-old son, was apparently less moody when alone with Cassandra. Well, Kyle considered, his eyes sliding down Alex's back to his bare buttocks, rising and falling as he thrust rhythmically into Kyle's wife. Damn it, she had actually gone through with their dirty, only half serious pillow talk?
"Soon, it's going to feel even better," Alex groan. "Sure it's ok for me to cum inside you?"
"Oh, yes," Cassandra smiled, her gaze moving towards the door, pausing as she noticed Kyle standing there. Her smile widened slightly, her green eyes sparkling with eager arousal. "I can't wait to feel you cum inside my cunt."
She wrapped one arm around his neck and pulled him down for an eager kiss, moaning as her lips devoured his, her tongue pushing its way into his mouth. Her legs were mirroring her arms, wrapping tightly around Alex's ass and pulling him down, or maybe it was her hips thrusting up, grinding against him and pushing him deeper inside her.
"Fuck Alex, I can't take it anymore, just cum."
Alex groaned, his prick slamming into Cass like a piston, picking up speed with every thrust, conquering her, until he let out a loud groan and Kyle knew from his wife's satisfied smile that he was cumming.
"Damn, your cunt feels so good," Alex groaned, reaching up to squeeze a full, pale tit.
Cass met his smile with one of her own, one hand rising to push a red curl out of her sweaty face.
"You're not too bad yourself. That was amazing!"
With a groan, Alex pulled out, and Kyle's prick twitched eagerly as he saw Alex's massive prick, a thread of cum connecting it to Cassandra's recently pounded entrance. Well, that killed the last possibility that they might have used protection. As if she could read his mind, Cass' gaze darted over to him again, once again with the slight, teasing smile, as if silently asking him what he was planning to do about it.
The answer, to Kyle's eternal chagrin and arousal, was nothing. How much of a decision he made was debatable, however. It all happened so fast; first Alex and Cass were kissing, then the muscular teenager rolled over to lay on the bed beside her. The risk of being caught watching - not barging in and demanding answers, just watching - was too much for Kyle, as was the persistent, throbbing ache that now owned his prick. He backed away just in time, listening to the soft, wet sounds of the couple's kisses, gentle moans, their light giggles. He listened to their idle conversation - Alex checking the time to see if he ought to head back for dinner, complaining for a moment about his parents, until his words trailed off and were replaced by soft groans, curses of encouragement. The familiar, muffled moans he heard from Cassandra were all he needed to know that his wife was currently sucking off another man. Fuck.
Equidistant between a hands-free orgasm and a panic attack, Kyle stepped as quietly as he could into the guest room nearby, landing in the armchair with a quiet grunt. His prick was pressing firmly against the dark blue of his jeans, now, and while he was quite certain that this was the most turned on he could ever remember being, he also was not sure whether or not he was ready to face the indignity of pulling out his cock and jerking off to the thought of his current situation. He was forced to compromise, however, when the soft thudding of bed against wall in the next wall resumed - accompanied by his wife's all-too-eager moans.
One hand stroked against his hard prick through the fabric of his jeans, somehow managing to both placate and frustrate his eager hardness. He leaned back into the armchair, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of his wife's distant lovemaking, and remembering vividly the sight of her smirking, challenging features. Eventually, the symphony next door drew to a close, replaced by indistinct conversation, the occasional laugh. Kyle's heart just about leapt into his throat as he heard footsteps outside the guest room - more conversation, then the sound of someone's heavy form descending the stairs.
