40 comments/ 49077 views/ 31 favorites Doing It for You Ch. 02 By: BuckyDuckman With Jill's help, I pulled my pants back up. "Thank you," she said, her voice quiet and shy. "For what?" I asked, still smiling from the unexpected blowjob. "For letting me do that," she said, her hand patting my crotch before coming to rest where it usually did when we were driving, on my thigh. I laughed. "Wait, you just sucked me off and you're the one saying 'thank you?' Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?" I stole a glance at her before making the last left turn towards our house. After her shower, she took the time to blow dry her hair. With the amount of cum in her hair after her sex scene, she needed to wash it, but blow drying her hair always left it big and frizzy looking. But with the extra make-up or fake eyelashes, she looked like my Jill again. "I know, I just needed that. I needed to touch you like that." "You okay?" She nodded. "I think so. Do you really still love me?" I patted her thigh. "More than ever," I promised. But was that the truth? I had just watched my wife, the only woman I have ever known in a biblical sense, fuck and suck five professional porn stars. She had taken it every way five guys could give it to her, in her mouth, hands, pussy and up her ass. For forty-five minutes of filming, Jill was a cock-hungry slut for them to use and in exchange for her time, we were six thousand dollars richer. Yes, we could fix her car and catch-up on bills. We could put a little away for the next rainy day and still have some money left to splurge, but was it worth it? Leaning over the console, she kissed my cheek. "I love you, too. You know that, right?" Turning into our driveway, I nodded. Sweethearts since our sandbox days, we could have been promised to each at birth for all it meant to our dating lives. We discovered sex with each other and never looked past the other for more, until today. On one hand, Jill hadn't done a thing with those men she didn't do with me. Indeed, with me, she swallowed. With them, cumshots were sprayed across her face and open mouth. On the other hand, her experience with other men was now five times my experience with other women. The math remains easy when you're multiply five times one. Behind the closed doors of our house, Jill through herself at me. "I want you," she said, pulling at my clothes. "I want you inside me, against me, and in me." I didn't point out how she repeated herself. Instead, I found a smile that was covered up by her lips and tongue. The same lips and tongue she had used on me and those other men. I didn't mind her kissing me after going down on me. Not if she waited a bit. Not if we were still going at it. That was squeamishness we had never learned. I know some guys won't kiss their wife after they get a blowjob from her and guys who make their wife brush her teeth and gargle afterwards. If I was supposed to be that way, I never learned it. But now? Was I kissing just Jill or was I kissing the pricks of those five other men, too? I pulled away, kissing her cheek (wait, didn't those guys cum on those cheeks?), I kissed her neck (where all that cum had been running down in rivulets), and tried kissing her breasts (where she had smeared their orgasms right over her hard nipples, over and around the curves of her full tits). Was there anywhere my lips could touch? In between pulling off her clothes, Jill stripped me naked, too, giggling as she had done tens of times before. My body reacted to the joy of the moment, the sensual impact of being so needy for one another that we could barely make it behind closed doors. Our clothes fell into a mixed pile near our feet and the naked woman in front of me was the same beautiful woman I had married. She caressed my body, running her hands over my chest, stomach, and finally pulling me towards our bedroom by my hard cock. "I want this," she said in her usual naughty voiced way. I followed her, admiring the slight jiggle to her ass as she walked. As if pulled on a string, my hand caressed her ass as we rounded the corner to our bedroom and our bed. It's difficult for me to list ways and reasons why I love my wife. Our history is too long. Listing reasons why I love her is as foolish a quest as deciding when I started loving her. But how else can I describe how it felt the swimless summer when we were both ten? A broken arm kept me in a cast and fumbling to hold game controllers. And Jill? She brought over board games and spent time with me instead of swimming with the rest of our friends. The top shelf of our closet holds an avalanche of well used board games that still get pulled out on snow days and evenings when there's nothing good on TV. Playing Jenga or Sorry with Jill feels as much like a profession of our love together as being naked in bed with her. Standing next to our bed, she insisted on kissing my lips again. I accepted the kiss, struggling to fight back enough demons to fake returning it. She caressed my bare flesh again. "How do you want me?" she asked, the twinkle in her eye matching the playful upturned corner of her lips. It was an invitation to play, an invitation I knew as well as the curves of her hips. She was mine for me to take however I wanted. "Just lay down," I told her, unsure of myself. My doubt surged when I saw her brown eyes searching mine. What would she find there? I didn't risk it. "You heard me," I said, giving her ass a playful slap. "Get on the bed and lay there for me." "Yes sir!" she said, a smile on her lips. Did she looked relieved? I don't know. It was too hard to think. I climbed into bed with her, letting her lie on her back as I positioned myself between her legs. With the ease earned from hundreds of repetitions, I guided my hard cock inside her shaved pussy, pressing myself deeply inside of her and resting there. My cock throbbed inside the moist warmth of her body's axis. I pulled back a bit, experimented with a thrust and repeated the motion, moving slow without realizing I was doing it. "Mm, you feel so good," she purred, her hands caressing the sides of my face, moving over my shoulders, before she settled with one hand on my back and her other on my ass. I rose and fell against her again before realizing why I was moving so slow. I wasn't fucking her, I was probing her. I was using my hard prick to feel inside of her, to feel a pussy I had watched being stretched by the freakish length and girth of those porn starts. I wasn't fucking her pussy, I was testing it. Was it still mine? Did it still feel the way it was supposed to feel? Was she stretched beyond recognition or did she still feel like my Jill? I studied the length of every stroke and found her as wet, slippery, warm and as tight as I've always known her to be. This was my wife beneath me, regardless of what those other men had done to her with their porn star sized manhoods, she was still my wife and she still felt like it. More importantly, she stilled moaned like her, too. "So good," she said again, squirming beneath me. A lesser part of my brain screamed for attention. As good as that fat uncut cock? it screamed at me to ask. But I didn't. I kept those words to myself. Instead, I asked, "You're not sore, are you?" She bit her lip, worry on her brow. "No," she said. "At least not today." I remembered what the one guy had said to me, right before I started cheering her performance. "We're going to ruin her," he had warned me. "...until she's no good to you or any other man for at least a week." She didn't feel ruined to me. She felt like she always did; hot, wet, and needy. "This is good," I told her, touching on of her breasts with my hand. I remembered seeing those other men clawing at her, clutching at her breasts in a testosterone fueled frenzy. That wasn't how I touched her, not ever. I loved Jill's breasts. Wait, loved? I mean, I love her breasts. I have always loved her breasts. I love their size and shape and the way her nipples grow dark red when she's aroused. Bowing my head, I watched between our bodies as I gently rolled her nipple between my finger and thumb, seeing her aroused nipple the same as always. When she moaned again, I looked up at her, seeing her eyes fluttering open and shut as a wave of pleasure coursed through her. I felt its impact between her legs, too. Her pussy muscles contracted and gently squeezed my firmness. I thought of increasing my pace, of fucking her harder and faster. It's how we usually did it when we were doing it in a missionary position. I would vary how I started, sometimes with long, slow strokes while another time I might begin with shallow, teasing jabs. Regardless of how I started, the end was always the same; a mad frenzy of deep thrusts, punctuated by her orgasmic cries of pleasure until I erupted inside of her. I fought the urge to slip into that pattern. Instead, I told her, "Had me the lube." Jill's eyes went wide before narrowing into slits above a wistful grin. "You're a naughty man," she teased, reaching inside the drawer of our nightstand for the tube of KY jelly. She kissed me, handed me the tube, and waited until I pulled away before she rolled over. "Like this or up on all fours?" she asked as I lubed my hard cock. She was laying on her belly, poking her ass upwards. "That's fine," I said, wiping a small dollop of excess lube on her ass. Jill had first offered me her ass years ago, shortly after we were married. She was inspired by a porn movie we had watched together, inspired and curious. In the following years, we began referring to her ass as her "joy hole." It was couple-speak, code between the two of us, and we delighted in our secret. Jill loved it up her ass. We had talked about it, exploring our minds as much as each other's bodies. The best reason, she decided, was because it felt wrong; somehow nasty, like a special secret we shared. We played with Jill's joy hole often, with fingers, toys, and my cock. Before today, the most erotic memory burned into my head was watching Jill masturbate for me and using our biggest toy inside her ass. That memory was clouded now with a new memory, the vision of these other men taking her ass with a sense of glee that rivaled anything we had done together. The memory was clouded by the way she had offered them her ass as if it meant nothing, just one more position for a seasoned porn starlet, that's all. Usually, I played with her ass before entering it. I would lube her puckered opening, teasing her with a finger and then two. She never got to see how it teased me, too. My swollen cock would dance and ache with its desire to feel the warmth and extra tightness of her joy hole. But a dab of excess lube was all I could bring myself to offer her. My prick was well lubed. I had seen her asshole stretched by each of those other men. She would take it as I offered it to her. Moving into position, I aimed my glistening prick at her puckered open and pushed inwards with the same rote intensity as I had her pussy. "Ow!" she said, crawling away from me. "Careful, baby." That lesser area of my mind screamed again. "What's the matter? Did those other guys ruin you for me?" But I bit off those words, exchanging them for "Sore?" "It's my ass," she said, sounding a bit annoyed. "Take it slow, okay?" I nodded, a gesture she couldn't see, but she could feel the difference in my second try. I pressed against her, holding my prick against her joy hole with a firm insistence, but allowing her to open for me. She did and I slipped inside slowly. Once in place, I backed off a bit before pressing deeper. Again and again, I eased myself in and out in the ways I usually did. "Better?" "So good," she said, pressing backwards and upwards to let me know she was comfortable. "More." I felt a strange thing happening to my face and I realized, I was smiling. I conjured up images of her being fucked by two bulls at once, one in each hole, and found the image was difficult to hold. Overriding that image was the sensations of feeling my wife's ass against me as I rode her. Again, I realized I was probing her, trying to find how she felt different, but she didn't. Her soft, young flesh felt the same as anytime before. I was fucking my wife, my Jill, and she was enjoying it. Better still, so was I. Giving into the sensations of being inside her joy hole, I found my rhythm. I fucked her in the way I had in more times than we had ever bothered to count. I fucked her ass, felt her tighten beneath me, and felt the rhythm squeezes that match her cries of an orgasm. I came, too, with a deep, satisfying orgasm. Laying across her back, still inside her joy hole, I murmured in her ear, "I love you." "I love you, too," she said, craning her head backwards until we could kiss and my lips found hers. We took the time to wash. I went first, knowing she would need more time in the bathroom. I dressed, waiting for her. I guess I sat brooding, thinking about our day, but I can't remember a single thought I had until I saw her coming out of our bathroom. She was naked, having hung her towel next to mine in rack. My eyes were drawn to her pussy, devoid of fur for her video shoot. I had never seen her pussy without any hair and it looked strange to me. She must have noticed where my eyes were focused because she touched bare flesh. "I feel like a little girl," she confessed, looking unhappy. I crossed to her, giving her a quick peck on her forehead and a squeeze of her tit. "Not with a body like this," I said. Leaving her with the bedroom, I went into the kitchen for a beer and the living room for the couch and TV. A little bit later, Jill came out of the bedroom, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. She picked up the jumble of clothes next to the door and asked if I was ready for another beer before joining me on the couch. We drank beer and watched TV in silence until the TV was the only light in the room. I don't know how late it was nor how many beers we had, since Jill kept carrying away empties on her way to fetch me a new one. I know I had more than her, but not how many. Off and on, the lesser part of my brain woke up to scream new taunts at me. "You know your wife's a slut, right?" it would scream at me. I answered with another sip of my beer. "They ruined her. She's never going to be satisfied with just you again!" it told me later. I answered with another sip. "What are you going to do when the people at work find out about it?" That one took several long draws to silence. "What about your parents? What about HER parents? Maybe you can watch the video together at Thanksgiving!" Beer remained the answer. What kind of man lets his wife do something like?" And beer had a problem chasing that one away. "I'm sorry," I mumbled midway through a movie I was staring at instead of watching. "Sorry? Baby, for what?" Jill asked. "For letting you do that. I should have stopped you. A real man wouldn't let his wife do that." I tried to take another sip of my beer, but she stopped me. She pulled the bottle away from me. "Excuse me?" "You heard me," I said. Feeling the effects of the beer, my voice was sharp and with an edge to it that sounded too much like the taunting section of my brain. Oh shit, was I going to start slurring and yelling like my dad used to do to my mom? "A real man?" she repeated, her voice rising, too, threatening the beginning of one of our fights. It was the disadvantage of being boyfriend and girlfriend since before we born, which was how it felt most of the time. We could fight, dammit. We could yell, scream, and blow-up at each other in ways that had gotten cops called on us when we lived in that shitty apartment right after we got married. "What the fuck does that mean? You're not a real man?" "You heard me," I mumbled again, knowing that when she started swearing, it was go time for a fight. "Way to pussy out, the lesser me taunted. Jill screamed at me. "You are one hundred times the 'real man' of any of those guys!" I stared at her and waited in silence. I was waiting for that lesser voice to say something. What was I supposed to say back? Was I supposed to point out how they had cocks bigger than mine? I'm not under-endowed, but I'm not a porn star freak, either. Or maybe I was suppose to point out how they all worked out more than me, even their muscles had muscles for pete's sake! Waiting for my lesser mind to make a suggestion gave it room to speak when it did arrive with words; the kind shitty, hateful words that a fucking numbnut Internet troll might leave on message board. "You sure looked like you were enjoying yourself!" I spat out. She threw it back in my face with the practiced ease of someone who had know me most of my life, "Oh, and what did that hard-on you were wearing mean?" "Oh, excuse me for getting hard because I saw my wife naked." "You saw me do more than get naked and I don't remember seeing that hard-on fade." Thinking fast, I let the lesser mind have its way again, "Oh, so you were doing it for me? That's why you came so many times, right?" She stared at me, her brown eyes flaring at me in the washed out blue from the TV. Her jaw was set hard, like it was when she defiantly announced to me she was going to do it. Worse, her voice dropped down low, a menacing tone reserved for when she was extremely pissed. "Fine," she said, her voice dripping with ice enough reverse global warming. "You want to know why I came so many times? Do you really want to know what fucking got me off so fucking many times?" "Go for it," I said, as ignorant as ever and too pissed to care. "Because of the way you were looking at me. When I came out of that dressing room, all painted and dolled up like a fucking Barbie doll, you looked at me in a way I have NEVER seen before!" "You looked like fucking porn star." "Yeah, I bet I did. That's what I thought, too. I even said so before I walked out there. I looked like a fucking slut. And you... YOU! You looked at me as if I was the hottest thing you had ever seen in your life!" She was right, of course. That's wasn't just the expression I wore on my face, it was the sensation surging through me at the time, too. I had always loved my wife, always found her beautiful, but seeing her with her hair teased, styled, and curled; seeing her with fake eyelashes that looked an inch long; seeing her with more make-up on her face at one time than she had probably worn through-out her entire life; seeing the bald, bare spot of her shaved pussy; see all those things had collided inside of me at once. I had spent weeks working the set of porno movies and had seen over a dozen starlets arrive on set, and never in those weeks had I gotten as much as half a hard-on. It took seeing my wife dressed up like a porn star to create that reaction in me. Worse, my beer addled brain reproduced that first glimpse of her for me and it had the same effect on me. I grew hard again. I wasn't "growing hard" or "getting hard." I went from flaccid to "hey buddy, let's fuck something" faster than I could control. Jill wasn't done with her attack. "Do you remember fucking moaning? Do you have any idea how fucking hot that was for me? Yeah, so I had another man's cock in my mouth, big fucking deal! Do you think I cared about that? That didn't matter to me. What really mattered to me was seeing how you were looking at me. Hearing you moan. Even seeing you dropping that damn reflector. I know why you did it. For the same reason you busted your lip that one time. Tell me I'm wrong, dammit! Tell me I've fucking lying!" I winced at her recall. The night I busted my lip was the first night with our new bed, the one with the headboard that stuck out. I came out of the bathroom, naked, ready for work and thinking she was still sleeping. But she wasn't. She played possum beneath our sheets until I walked into the room. "Feel like christening our new bed again?" she asked, tossing the sheets aside and showing me her naked body. Being playful, I stood at the foot of the bed and leapt on it. That's when my face hit the headboard and I busted my lip. Instead of getting laid that morning, I got three stitches in my lip. Doing It for You Ch. 02 And she wasn't lying. As stunned as I was at what she was doing, it had turned me on. I was hard and I was excited by it, just as I was excited by her reminding me about it. My dick was hard and straining against my jeans, hidden only by the dim glow of our TV. "Why did you do?" I asked her, too rattled to add the resentment to my voice that my lesser mind wanted me to use. "I don't know," she said, her jaw softening enough for her to give her lip a pensive bite. "Because Scottie told me to? Because I knew, if I didn't do it, we weren't going to get the shoot done? Because I was horny thinking about all the things I wanted to do to you." "What did he say to you?" "He told me I had to do it. Said he had taken a loan from a loan shark and they would break his legs if he didn't finish the shoot." "He was lying." "How was I supposed to know?" she asked, the anger returning to her voice. I could tell she was struggling to hold it back. "You know how I am when my boss asks me to do something." I nodded. Jill was terrible about letting people take advantage of her, especially if they were her boss. "You didn't have to do it." "We needed the money." "So that's why you did? For the money?" I asked, again feeling my lesser brain bubbling to the surface. "So, for six grand you'll fuck five strangers. What will you do for seven grand? Fuck and suck the whole football team?" The hurt look on her face was nothing compared to the stab I felt in my heart for creating it. My first instinct was to apologize but the anger, beer, and idiot side of my brain wouldn't let me. I watched as her hurt expression dissolved back into stern jawed anger. "Find a new slut to poke," she spat at me before storming from the room. "Fuck you!" I called after her. She stopped, half way to our room and spun on her heels. "No, you won't," she said, slamming the bedroom door. When I heard her crying, I turned up the volume on the TV until I couldn't hear it any more. As the TV screamed about how much I could save by switching car insurance, I sat in the dark and finished my beer. It took two more beers before I grew tired of the TV being so loud, tired of drinking beer, and tired of thinking so much. Refusing to apologize, I spent my first night on the couch. In the morning, I showered while Jill slept. She was in the same position when I left for work, hung-over and miserable. My last thought as I walked out of the bedroom came from the lesser part of my brain, "Fucking slut. Work was a mindless blur. I moved about my day in a stupor that didn't lift until I came home. That's not exactly right. I sat in the car, in front of my house, staring at the windshield in that same stupor for a long time before accepting the dirty glass of my windshield held no epiphanies or revelations for me. I walked past the flowers she planted, the grass I mowed, and up to the door we picked out together at Home Depot four years ago. Taking a deep breath, I convinced myself I was ready for everything from a repeat of the cold shoulder to Round 2 of our battle. What I walked into didn't make that list. "I need a ride," Jill said, standing a few feet away from the door as it opened. There was a suitcase at her feet. Oddly, my first thought was to wonder how long I had been sitting in the car and how long she had been standing there waiting for me to open the door. Her voice was flat and emotionless. "Where to?" I asked, numb and confused. "Home," she said, her voice cracking. "You mean, your mom's right?" She nodded. I could see the tears she was fighting welling up in the corners of her pretty brown eyes. She set her jaw in that decisive way she had but a tremble of her lips thwarted her. Ignoring the tear that leaked down the left side of her face, she sniffed once. "Your money is on the table." "My money?" I asked, feeling the demon inside trying to emerge. I began waging a battle of mine own. She nodded again. "I said I did it for you. I meant that. It's your money, not mine." Another tear, this one from the right side, playing catch-up on her other cheek. "I'm not a slut. And if what I did made me a slut, then I won't be a whore, too." Isn't it funny how when you turn your head sideways, the world doesn't turn sideways? I know, because that's what I did, I turned my head sideways because I wanted to get a different look at her. It felt weird and strange to see her like this, to see her with tears on her face and an unhappy frown pulling at her lips and I didn't understand why it felt so odd. I had seen Jill cry before. Truth is, I had been the reason for tears before, too. Not always. I wasn't the reason her dog died, for example, but while it was rare to see her cry, I had. Why did this feel different? I turned my head to work it out and I did. I did before she asked, "Why are you looking at me like that?" I knew why. "Answer me," she demanded. "Because you look so far away." It was because this was the first time I had ever seen cry from such a distance. It was the first time I had seen her with tears in her eyes without us moving towards each other. It was the first time I saw the woman I had loved since before clock hands told time crying from a distance that felt too far. I pulled the door shut and leaned against it. I wasn't blocking her exit, I just felt too exposed to our neighbors and I couldn't bring myself to close the gap between us. "What does that mean?" she asked. "You're crying." "I have been most of the day." "I can tell. I just mean, I've never seen you cry from this far away." "Enjoying the view?" "Not especially." "Would you like it better if I had big cock in my mouth?" I shook my head. "What are you going to tell your mom when I drop you off?" "She's my mom. I don't have to tell her anything. You know that." "Probably," I agreed. "I mean, after all, she's half my mom, too. We traded, remember?" It was a joke left over from when we were kids and I told Jill I liked her mom better than my mom. Sometimes I would screw up and call Jill's mom "Mom," too. The reference made Jill's face soften a bit. Not a smile or the beginnings of a grin, just a softening. The change only lasted a moment. "Don't," she said as another tear fell. "Really, though. I bet you could tell your mom about things. I mean, she gave us both the birds and bees talk, so she knows how it goes, right?" "Stop it." "You can probably tell her the part where I got hard watching, too. She might understand." "You're a fucking bastard. Stop it!" "And you're a fucking whore slut!" I shouted back, breaking the wall between my lesser and higher mind. "What the hell are you going to say, Jill? 'Oh we were working on a porn set and the star didn't show up, so I filled in?' I mean, that's what happened, right?" I was on a roll and unable to stop myself. "What about the principal at school? What are you going to tell him? 'Relax, I'm a slut, but I'm not a pedophile?' And what am I supposed to say when the guys at work want to come home to fuck my wife? 'Sure guys, go ahead. I'll just watch.'" A dam broke inside of her, too. She started really crying, not just leaking tears, but bawling. "I don't know!" she wailed. She darted into the kitchen, grabbed the stack of bills from the table, and held them out to me (though she was still standing next to her suitcase). "Maybe we can give Scottie back his money and he can erase it. He doesn't have to sell it, right? We can give him the money, he can erase it, and then it's like it didn't happen, right?" "Not for us," I said, shaking my head, knowing that wasn't the point. I knew Scottie wouldn't do it. I had heard the stories from him and the rest of the crew. Scottie's release forms couldn't be more binding unless they were signed in blood. Jill put the money on the little table in the foyer, next to the lamp she had gotten last year at a garage sale. "I still don't want the money," she said, struggling to regain her composure. It was taking a lot of sniffling. Looking helpless, she stood again next to her suitcase. "This really sucks." "And not in that good way," I said, automatically adding a tagline I had been known to repeat for years. Jill rolled her eyes. "You want to know what sucks the most about this?" "Sure," I said, curious how she might see things. "It's all going to happen, just like you said. The principal's going to find out. The guys you work with are going to find out. My parents are going to find out," she said, her voice hitching over the parents part. "And the worst part is that my best friend isn't going to be there to help me through it." The tears started again, but just tears. No wailing this time. "I love you so much! And that's what hurts most of all!" She leaned against the wall behind her, turning slightly away from me, but needed the wall to hold her up. I was a bastard. I stood there and watched her cry for a long time. I don't know how long. How long is too long when someone you love is crying? Maybe it was just a few seconds or maybe a couple of days. Fuck it and fuck you for judging me, because all I know is that I stood there and watched her cry for a long, long time. I watched as the wall couldn't hold her up anymore and slowly began sliding down in until she sat in a curled up heap on the floor. "Go to her," said my heart. "Hold her. You don't have to lie to her. Just console her. It's not weakness, it's strength. Be bigger than your troubles." I wasn't familiar to hearing that voice. It was soft, quiet, and easily talked over. I moved, not to catch her, it was too late for that. I just moved closer, testing each step, waiting for another voice that I felt but couldn't hear. The silent voice was the one I knew too well, the voice of my lesser mind, my fearful mind, the one that never seems to understand anything. Without words, I knelt in front of Jill, drawing her into my arms. I held her against my chest, feeling her body hitching up and down as waves of tears surged through her. We didn't speak. She put an arm around me, for strength? I don't fucking know. But I let her do it. It felt better and worse to hold her. Better, because it's what I had always done. Worse, because I didn't know why I was there. What was I doing? Didn't she owe me an apology? Had she given me one I missed? Did she think she was going to get one from me? Why would she? What did I do wrong? I didn't suck and fuck five different guys. Besides, I HAD apologized to her. I apologized for not being man enough to stop her. She gained some control over her tears. My shirt was wet. I didn't care, it just was. "Can I ask you a question?" she asked, her voice so soft I barely heard it. "Yes," I said, my voice a flat, monotone. "Why did you get hard yesterday?" That was a question I answered last night. I don't like repeating myself. "Because I saw my wife naked. That's what a man is supposed to do," I growled. "But you stayed hard, too. Why? Because I was still naked?" "I don't know," I said, the growling edge still in my voice. "And you cheered me on, too. Do you remember? Why did you do that?" "Because he said he was going to ruin you for me." She looked up, her face wet with tear stains. "You believed him, right? At least a little bit of you did?" I shook my head. "No." "Why not?" "I don't know," I said. "You took pictures of me, too. Remember?" I nodded. I did. I had worked the still camera for a while, capturing what she was doing for the box cover. We were quiet for a long time, still on the floor, just behind her suitcase. We sat down, side-by-side, my arm around her shoulder, her head on my chest and her arm around my waist. We sat without talking, just breathing. The hitching of her sobs passed, but nothing was better. Holding her felt good. Being held by her felt good. But I knew I was holding the end of a marriage. The end of a romance whose beginning I never really knew. She was first to break the silence that had settled over us. "Did I feel ruined?" "What?" I asked, too deep in my funk to want to talk. Her words came out in short bursts, in shorthand, as if it was too difficult to say the whole thought. "Yesterday. We fucked. Did I feel ruined?" "No," I said, not wanting to remember but too tired to lie. "Does it matter?" "Now?" "Whenever," she said, hugging me again. "I'm sorry." "For what." "I don't know. Everything? For screwing up? For doing it?" I rested my head on top of hers. There was something wrong here and I needed to work it out. I wasn't sure what it was. It felt like it was wrong for her to say she was sorry. Why was that wrong? Wasn't that I wanted to hear? Sure, it was too late for her to say. Sorry didn't change things. I was still married to a slut, what difference did sorry make? "Say something," she begged. "No, not yet," I said, still holding her, waiting for an answer to a question I hadn't asked yet. Wait, I had asked the question, why was it wrong for her to say I'm sorry? What did it change? No, that's not the right question. Nothing changed, so sorry didn't mean anything, right? No, again, that was wrong, too. There was something more and it was hiding, something primal. Something hidden my lesser mind knew to be true and was hiding from me. Once I knew where to look, the answer started to take form. "I was so hard," I told her. "When?" "When I first saw you. And later, it was worse. When they were touching you," I said, faltering for a moment. "No, not touching you: fucking you. Fuck that made me hard. So fucking hard. And when I started taking pictures of you, do you remember what was happening?" She shook her head against my chest. "You were about to have another orgasm. And I caught it, with the camera. Oh baby, you looked so hot and so beautiful when you came!" I held her tighter. "I remember, you rubbed yourself. I remember seeing you do it," she said, her voice soft, as if she was afraid to speak. "And I came again when I saw you do that. It made me so much hotter to see you hard like that." "I was jealous." "I'm sorry, baby," she said, holding me tighter. "No, that's now how I mean it," I told her, correcting myself. "I was jealous when they started to cum on you. Jealous because I wanted to cum on you, too." I hesitated a moment, realizing I was wrong again. "No, I wanted to cum IN you, not ON you." "I wanted it, too," she told me and I believed her. "I wanted to feel you inside of me, cumming for me, with me... because of me." "I did, in the car." "I know and you did it later, too." I snorted. "I was fucked up when I did it later." "You still did it." She was right. And inside that deep, primal part of me, I understood the problem my lesser mind couldn't admit. It was excited by what it saw, by what I saw. "You looked hot sucking on those big cocks," I said, remembering. "Sucking and fucking them. Fuck, you looked so hot!" "It bothered you though, so it was wrong." "No, it excited me and I didn't understand. Was it fun touching them?" "Truth?" she asked, pulling away from chest and staring in to my eyes. I didn't turn away. I let her look as I nodded. "Yeah, it was fun. Not fun like you. Fun like that big dildo we play with sometimes." "The really big one," I said, a smirk on my face. "The one you said was too big." "The one you always pull out for me to use." I kissed her. Just a peck on the lips. "It's fun watching you use that one." "It's so big," she said. "Bigger than those guys." "Bigger than me." "No, no one is bigger than you." I stared at her, confused. I knew how big my cock is. The toy is bigger and all five of those men were bigger, too. "You fill me with more than they do," she said, a faint smile trying to explain the rest. She didn't need to. I got it. "I love you," I said. "I know." "Too much?" "Not yet." We sat facing each other, our hand touching the other but pulled away so we could see each other. "I'm sorry," I told her. "Me too," she said. I didn't know why I was saying it and I don't think she did, either. But I wanted to say it to her and be heard by her and I think she felt the same way. "Did it feel good getting it in both ends at once?" I asked. "Sort of like when you do it to me with the toy." I grinned. "So you're saying you liked it." "Yeah, I did," she said, looking away, embarrassed. I moved her hand from my shoulder and put it between my legs where my cock was growing hard. "You liked it a lot, didn't you?" I asked, remember how she looked sandwiched between two of those guys. "I remember being glad you bought that toy." Standing, I pulled open my pants, pushed them to my thighs, and showed her my hard-on. "Suck it," I said. She did, not stopping until I came inside her mouth. When she was done, I smiled down at her. "Now let's find that toy. I want a private show."