Reluctant Menage-et-trois
“Would you like to order now sir?” I looked up. It was the barkeep Sally had introduced earlier. He obviously found something very amusing. Perhaps it was the stained panties still lying on the table. Perhaps it was me, sitting there miserable and alone as my wife walked off with someone else.
He knew! He ‘had’ to know. He called her by her first name when she came in and this was obviously where they held their little rendezvous. I closed the envelope I had just opened without viewing the contents. Casually I picked up my wife’s panties, folded them neatly and put them in my pocket together with the envelope.
“Yes, I have an order?” Staring up into the smirking face I said quietly. “I would appreciate it very much if you would take that grin off your face and fuck off!”
His smile was replaced by open-mouthed surprise and I was left staring at an empty space. It was a mild release for the pent-up agonies I had nursed for the last few hours.
It felt very claustrophobic in there, I couldn’t think straight; I was suffocating. I had to get out, get some fresh air and do some serious thinking. I paid at the bar to a different barman, and left.
I pushed my hand into my pocket pulled out the tacky panties and dumped them in a bin near the door, then I made my way out into the night, around the side of the building to the MPV, praying that she would be there, but knowing that she wouldn’t.
Where was she, what was she doing now? My thoughts were running rampant, almost unbearable; was she fucking? Of course she was. Was she sucking him off again, now, at this moment? My head was buzzing with this roller coaster of a day. I remembered the envelope. It was probably a ‘Dear John’ I thought, I opened it. Photographs? No letter, just photographs?
I climbed into the car and switched on the light, no doubt in my mind what the subject of the pictures would be. I thumbed through the selection dispassionately, amazed at how calm I had become with an almost analytical eye, as though the cunt depicted in most of the shots in glorious colour was not that of my wife. One showed the swollen labia, open and ready, the forefingers of a male hand pulling back the hood of her clit, exposing it red and raw looking, distended, alert, above the yawning crimson hole, glistening with moisture, that was evidently about to be, or had just been fucked. That it was my wife there was no doubt. I could see her face in some of the shots and her ‘designer stubble’ in most of the others. She hadn’t lied about his penis either. It was a weird appendage, crowned with what looked like the head of a big mushroom. I was developing a severe dislike for this man.
Another shot showed jets of cum that had been ejaculated onto her belly, a trail of cum hanging from the gaping mouth of her sex. The flash of the camera had lit up the inside of her abused cunt. I could see the greyish-white sperm inside her, contrasting with the redness of her cuntal passage. Yet another showed him wedged belly to belly up inside her. Another with his hand wrapped around his prick poised at her opening, a stream of whiteness spewing from the mushroom end into her. Then, turning to the next one my heart sank. It was the one image I was praying I wouldn’t see. The bulbous head of his cock buried just inside the straining ring of her once virgin anus. In the picture a female hand could be seen. Her hand! Pushing against his groin as though in protest against the unnatural assault. A futile attempt judging by the next photo, he was sunk right in ball deep, their bodies gleaming with the fluids from her orifices. It went on and on, each one superseding the last in its grossness, it’s explicitness. There was no doubt in my mind whose influence had generated them and whose hand was directing the action and taking the photographs.
Staring again at the pictures it suddenly occurred to me that I knew where they were. It wasn’t a hotel room or a car. In some shots, judging by the upholstery, they were in a campervan or motorhome. The same motorhome we passed when we arrived! The same one she went into to get fucked while I sat at the bar worrying about her feelings.
I started up the MPV and drove to the other side of the building. Twenty yards from the motorhome I switched off the lights, parked and sat pondering my options. For a long time I just sat there reliving the events of the day, my eyes not leaving the illuminated windows of the camper.
I knew what I was going to do and once I had acknowledged that, the whole sorry mess began to take on a new perspective. It seemed so obvious. I had created this monster. I would be the one to destroy it.
I had pushed Sally into this and I could see now that once it had begun she had little choice but to let it run its course A terrible gamble but one she clearly thought was worth the risk, otherwise she would have gained nothing and lost everything, our marriage, her respect for me and most of all respect for herself. That she had found someone with a voracious unorthodox sexual appetite was my bad luck, but I was absolutely positive now that all things considered no matter who she had eventually chosen the outcome would have been the same, because what is invariably missing from this type of sordid little assignation is respect, responsibility and love. That is why he could do to her the things he did. He had no responsibility towards her, no love and no respect for her feelings. He could please himself what he did, then just walk away. Because of this fact it allowed the sex to be wild and unfettered with no accountability on either side. The onus lying squarely on the shoulders of ‘El Burko’, me! Whereas I loved her, I respected her. I was responsible for her and cared deeply about her well-being and our partnership. Whether this commitment and accountability actually dulled our sex life would remain a subject for conjecture and after tonight no doubt hopefully the topic of intense future discussions. I laughed out loud. She was getting fucked because of me! Now, the way I was thinking, she was getting fucked ‘for’ me? --- Fucking ironical isn’t it.
Okay, with that sorted out in my head I needed to find out for sure that she actually was in the motorhome. Climbing out of my vehicle I made my way across the park trying not to be too obvious and positioned myself between the camper and the shrubbery that surrounded the park and tried to peer, unsuccessfully through the blinds of a side window. I couldn’t see anything but I could ‘hear’ plenty. There was no mistaking the groans of my wife and her occasional Oh!----Oh!---- Oh! I felt a pang of jealousy and dejection as I realized I’d never heard her groans of sexual passion from a distance before.
“Push down on it Sally? Right down! That’s it! Now ride it! Fuck it hard! And all the while her mewing groans resounded through the van.
Why I wanted to see this, to actually see it happening I truthfully don’t know. At this moment I had a sincere hatred for this man who had taken my place, yet defying logic, I wanted to see him ‘in’ her, fucking her! To see what they did, how they interacted, but mainly I think I wanted to see how my wife reacted to him personally. This was madness! Why, for Gods sake! I don’t know.
My heart was pounding. I desperately circled the van looking for somewhere I could see inside. This was totally out of character for me. What was I doing, creeping about like a bloody voyeur, a peeping tom.
If anyone had seen me sneaking around the van with a steaming hard on I’d have been locked up. I felt disgusted with myself but it didn’t stop me. I had to see them.
I noticed that the cab-end had curtains instead of blinds and when I got closer I could see by the side of the door that there was a gap between the drapes on the passenger side of the vehicle and a chink of light was emanating from the interior. I pushed my face against the window and peered in. Where I was standing I could see almost the whole internal length of the camper but that wasn’t the main thing that was occupying my vision just then.
There she was, naked, almost facing me, a couple of metres to my right, sitting impaled on the cock of a dark-haired man whose total attire was a pair of ankle socks. She had her feet up on the seat opposite, legs splayed, hanging wide and using her feet for leverage she was slowly working herself up and down on the shaft that was buried deep in her----arse, for pity’s sake. Her cunt was hanging open, in a lop-sided ‘O’ secreting her lust as she squelched down on him.
“Now push your fingers in your cunt and fuck yourself. Play with your clit and tell me when you’re coming”
“No! Don’t ask me to do that! Just fuck me please”
“Look at your cunt Sally,” he said as he sat there kneading her breasts, rolling and squeezing the nipples “push your fingers in your hole and start fucking”
As if in a trance she leaned over and looked at her swollen, mushy gash with his rigid piston lodged tightly in her straining arse below, then she watched herself as she opened and held herself wider with her left hand then fed the fingers of her right hand in up to her knuckles.
I swear I didn’t take my cock out. it was just there, in my hand. What the fuck was wrong with me? My wife doing unimaginable things with a stranger and me standing watching with my prick in my hand, this wasn’t me! I don’t do things like this I thought as I slowly slid my fist back and forth.
“I’m coming! Oh, God--- I’m coming! Oh!—oh!—oh!”
It was Sally, and she wasn’t kidding. I saw then what she had talked about earlier, that quite frankly, I didn’t believe, my wife ejaculate; her hand was working feverishly at herself; then suddenly a discharge spurted from her, coating her fingers and her shaking thighs. Then I joined her, my cock quivered in my hand then pulse after pulse of semen spattered the side of his van.
I heard the guttural groans of a male voice reverberate from inside. “My turn girl” he groaned. “I’m going to come! Keep your cunt open,” he said as he withdrew his glistening prick from her arse and held it at the mouth of her cunt. She stretched the lips of her labia away from the widening gash with both hands and stared down at the mess between them as thick globules of sperm spewed from the bulbous head and splattered her inner thighs and belched up inside and around her cunt hole.
