After Work 25

I came home after work to find them fucking on the living room floor. My wife and some guy I didn't know. He was on top. I remember her heels and toes hanging in the air as his ass flexed and he pumped away at her.

"The FUCK," I said. The guy looked back over his shoulder and smiled at me. Then he saw my expression and his smile left. My wife, she looked at me, then rolled her eyes.

The guy sounded concerned. "I thought you said he'd be into this."

"He is," she said. "He just doesn't know it yet."

She'd painted her toenails. She never painted her toenails for me.

"The fuck," I said again, setting down my laptop bag. I didn't know what to say, but I needed to say something, so I started by saying, "You goddamn fucking—"

In a very clear and level voice, my wife said, "Subby Hubby."

Something in me melted. Like a sugar cube getting water poured over it. Or like when you're smoking weed and then, suddenly, something in you just gives way, like a dam breaking open, except that, instead of disaster and a community getting destroyed, it's just pleasure that's barreling your way. Dopey, happy, stupid, pleasure.

I stood, quietly, docile, like a waiter hanging around while a couple chose off a menu.

The guy noticed something was different. "What's wrong with him?"

She smiled at me. "Nothing. Well, nothing that I haven't stuck into him. I guess maybe there's plenty wrong with him, if you think about it like that. . . ."

The guy looked confused. "Look, is he into this or not?" I could tell he was losing his arousal.

"He's into it," she said. She stared straight at me. "Baby. Strip."

My shoes came off first. Then my socks. Then slacks, and underwear, and finally shirt. I was still a dopey, happy waiter, but now I was a naked, dopey, happy waiter. Waiting for an order. My cock stirred. . . .

My wife turned her attention to the guy. She reached around and felt his sac. "C'mon," she said to him. "Let's get you back up to speed. Baby, give my guy's balls the attention they deserve."

I got on all fours and crawled over to them. A lovely pleasant buzz hummed away in my head. I got close to his rear, and his cock was deep inside my wife. But I could tell he was getting soft. I needed to fix that. I needed him to feel as good as I did right now. No, even better. A waiter's job is to make the customer happy. My job is to make this man happy. Make him happy, and make my wife happy.

His balls were shaved. Smooth. With a fat tongue I began lathering them. He wriggled a bit. "Oh, shit," he said.

"Yeah," I heard my wife. From my place licking his balls it was hard to hear her. "You like him there?"

The man moaned. "Shit yes. Fuck. Oh."

"He's into it," my wife assured him. "He's into anything at all. Trust me on this."

The man just groaned some more. He slowly pulled out of my wife, then slightly less slowly pushed back in. Slow pull out, slightly faster push in. He didn't want to go any faster than that. He didn't want to lose the sensation of my tongue slathering his balls.

My wife was enjoying herself, too. I could tell from her scent. And the sound. More slippery. My tongue's attention shifted back a little from his balls to his taint, then back down to his balls again. Slather, draw up, taint, drop down, massage his shaven, tasty sac with my tongue, back up again, each time drawing a little closer to his hole, down, lathering, up. . . .

My tongue darted into his asshole. "Uhhh," he moaned. "Fuck." I pushed my tongue all the way. With a hand I caressed his balls.

She laughed. "He's at your asshole, isn't he? In there?"

"Goddamn," the guy said. "Jesus Christ."

"Just relax," she said. She rested her heels on my shoulders. I pushed my tongue in and out of his ass, then moved down to worship his balls, then back into his ass again. "Call him a faggot."

My cock jumped. "What?" said the guy.

"Faggot," she said. "Call him a faggot. It's part of the game. You're not gay, right?"

"No," said the guy. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with that—"

"There really is," she said. "There really is something wrong with it. You know it, I know it. He knows it. It's deviant, and perverse, and unnatural. It's okay. You can say it here, in private."

Deviant. Perverse. Unnatural. My cock was dripping. I could feel the head dragging on the floor. I'd have to clean the carpet once it was all done.

"Do it," my wife said. "Call him a faggot." When she said faggot, I pushed my tongue as deep into his ass I as I could. I wished my tongue were long enough to massage his prostate. I longed to feel the nub of the gland press against the tip of my tongue.

"Faggot," the guy said, and I moaned into his ass.

"Whoa," he said, jumping a little. "Wow."

"He loves it," said my wife. "My little faggot. Say it again."

"You faggot," said the guy. "You fucking faggot. Lick my ass, you pansy."

I moaned some more. I was pretty much dissolving now. Well, all of me was dissolving except my cock and my tongue and my hands and my feet. My cock was the most solid thing in the world right now. But everything else was melting pleasurably as in a warm summer rain.

The guy was pushing his ass back into my face. He fell out of my wife with a shluuup.

"Ah shit," he breathed. "Sorry."

She giggled. "It's okay," she said. She pushed him back a little and shuffled out from under him. "We've got time. And I want you to enjoy this."

He rested on his forearms, ass in the air. As I tongued him, I brought my fingers to his shaft and ran them up and down, soliciting a happy moan.

My wife brought herself next to me. She took my cock in her hand and started gently pumping it and whispered in my ear: "You love this."

Yes. I love this.

"You want this."

I want this.

"You'll do anything."

I'll do anything.

"My Subby Hubby."

Yes.

"You're sick."

I'm sick.

"You're perverse."

I'm perverse.

"Faggot," and she licked my ear, and my cock pulsed and thickened in her hand.

"Shit," the guy said. He pulled his ass away and sat on the floor and stuck his cock straight up into my face. "Suck my cock you faggot."

"That's the spirit," said my wife. She was talking to him. "Now you know. C'mon. Have some fun."

The guy put his hand on the back of my head. "Suck me, man. Suck me you dirty little slut. C'mon, you know you love it."

He sounded a lot more confident, now. And he was right. I did love it. I loved sucking his cock. I loved what I was doing and what they were doing to me. My wife lightly licked my ear and jacked my cock, occasionally bringing her hand down to my balls and tapping on my asshole. Cock, balls, asshole, balls, cock. She ran her thumb over the head of my slippery cockhead. Lots of precum. She brought her hand to my face and wiped her thumb on my nose and now my world was full of the scent of my own cock.

She sat up and knelt over by the guy and started kissing him, caressing his face while I worked away at his cock. I missed her attention, but I was glad to be making him happy, because by making him happy, I was making her happy. I heard kissing noises as I worked, kissing noises that grew steadily more ragged under his breathy moans.

"Fuck he's good," he said. "He's really fucking good."

"You gonna cum?"

Yes. Please, cum. I need your cum. Cum in this dirty slut faggot's mouth.

"Yeah soon," the guy said.

My wife grabbed my hair and pulled my head away from his pelvis. His cock bobbled like a flagpole in a wind. "Sit your ass back," she said to me, and I complied. The guy started to protest, and I knew how he felt. "No," she said. "No, not like this. Don't worry, you'll have plenty of chances. But I want to show you something.

"Hubby, lie down on your back." Then she crawled over and straddled me in a sixty-nine, planting her pussy right above my face. Light brown pussy hair. Pale skin. Her Irish ancestry. I pushed my tongue up to meet her twat, but she pulled away. "Not yet," she said. Now she spoke to the guy. "All right. C'mon and fuck me. Get inside me."

The guy walked on his knees up to my wife, his thighs straddling my head. She reached back and grabbed his cock and guided it into her and he sank deep into my wife's cunt. His balls pushed up into her.

"Yes," she said. "Grab my hair."

The guy said "What?"

"My hair," she said. "Grab my fucking hair and fuck me."

I felt him shift, and my wife's body stiffed and she cried out. "Fuck, yes." And she took my cock in her hand, and then her lips rubbed over and around the head, and then her warm, fat tongue came out, and then she took me into her mouth. Blowing me while the guy fucked her from behind and pulled at her hair. The only thing that would have made it any better would be if I could have tasted her cunt and run my tongue along his meat and toyed with her clit. But that lovely experience was too far away. All I could do was breathe deep of the scents they were producing.

A stray pubic hair fell off my wife and onto my cheek. I loved her more than I ever had, right then.

It was like that, then, for a while, my wife moaning, the guy grunting, hips slapping against the backs of her ass cheeks, the jiggle of two real, normal, healthy humans above this slave faggot, warm mouth on my cock. I never wanted it to end.

But then it did start to end. I could tell. His sac started flexing, and his thrusts grew stronger. He pushed into my wife harder, and she started to fall forward a little. She pulled her head off my cock and her forearms buckled and she rested her cheeks against my thighs. Her cunt and his balls and cock fell closer to my head and I started licking, forcefully, but careful not to upset their rhythm. I wanted to improve their experience, not interrupt it.

"Oh, fuck," he said, and his thrusts increased. "Fuck yes." I was clearly improving his experience.

"C'mon," muttered my wife. "C'mon, cum in me, fucking cum in me. Spank me."

The guy slapped her ass. But not hard. Tentatively.

"Fucking SPANK ME," she said. It wasn't quite a shout. He spanked her, harder, and she rewarded him with a "yes." Another spank, harder. Spank spank spank SPANK.

And then he flexed, and he hollered, and he pulsed, and I knew that his cum was shooting into my wife. I lightly sucked on his taint and felt the pulses between my lips. My wife and the guy both hollered as he shot his seed right up deep into her twat, again, and again, and again . . . .

He fell over her. Their weight pressed down through my wife's pelvis onto my face. His balls rested on my forehead. My wife's ribcage sixty-nined against mine as she breathed in and out, in and out, expand-hold-contract, expand-hold-contract.

I couldn't breathe. My world was the junction of my wife's cunt and her lover's cock and balls. I had to wait.

Soon the guy lifted up a little. "I think we're smothering him."

"Heh. Yeah." She sounded drunk. "Someday maybe I will."

"What?"

"Here," she said. Her hand came back and pushed lightly against his thigh. "C'mon, sit back. There's something I want you to see."

He pulled out of my wife with a light shlup, and his glossy cock bopped onto my nose and dragged up away from my forehead. I heard him sit on the floor behind me. My wife pushed herself up to her hands and knees, her labia at my lips. The mixed scent of my wife and her lover wafted out of her hole. My cock bobbed in approval.

"C'mon, baby," she said. "Your wifey needs some cleaning."

My wife's lover's semen emerged from her cunt. Yellowish, a little bit chunky. As it hit my tongue my whole head buzzed. I got stupid. Really stupid. I was made for this. Please, yes. I lapped at her pussy, receiving my reward for being good and obedient and docile and stupid and happy. It burned my throat as it slithered into my belly.

"Wow," said the guy. My wife just groaned. She pushed back on my face more, and I sank my tongue into her as far as it would go. I needed every last bit. Please, feed me. This is what I live for.

Eventually she pulled herself off me and landed on the floor with a grunt. My face was cool and wet. My eyebrows tickled with gelled arousal. I felt stoned. My heart pulsed in my ears, and in the world around us all.

From underwater, I heard the guy ask my wife, "Did you get off?". That was kind of him.

"No," she said. "Sixty-nine. It's really tough for me to get off that way."

"Yeah," the guy said. "Wow."

She brought herself close to him. I just lay in a heavy-lidded glaze, feeling my wife's arousal dry on my cheeks and forehand. I couldn't see, but I think they were snuggling. I heard light kissing.

"So what now?" he said. "Do you want to finish? Does he?"

Really, this guy, he was so thoughtful. I was falling in love.

"Nah," said my wife. "That's not good for him. He cums, he starts to expect it. Starts getting ideas that he deserves it. Isn't that right, baby? You don't deserve to cum, do you?"

I shook my head, no. I don't deserve to cum.

"Wow," the guy said. "You?"

I could actually hear my wife smile, a crackling of saliva. I could picture her vast smile, all toothy. "You're sweet. Not today. I need to get cleaned up. Night out with the girls."

"So I'd better go, is what you're saying." And so he got dressed, and she walked him to the door, and I heard low conversation. I couldn't make much of it out, except that I heard him say "next time" and I heard her seem to agree. And then the door shut, and he left.

Not much more to tell, now. She let me finish her up with my mouth and tongue, and she came so hard that she nearly wrenched my neck, almost. She pushed me away and lay on the floor, panting. Then a long silence, and she got up and gave me my orders.

Now I'm sitting here, writing this on the computer, while my wife showers and gets ready for her night out. After she reads this, she'll make me post it to literotica under my alias. And then she'll make me shower, and get my clothes on, and walk out to the car with my laptop, and get in the driver's seat. And as soon as I close the door, this slave faggot will forget that any of this happened, and I won't notice any of the lost time or my stiff tongue or the scent of sex in my home.

I'll share my dull day with my wife, who will listen, a little impatiently, as she gets ready to go out and have fun with her friends, again.

And me? After she leaves, I'll watch a little television, and I might masturbate, and I'll wish for a little more excitement in my life, except that I've come to accept that, in middle age, excitement is for other people.