The streets were ablaze with Christmas lights as Layla and I shopped for presents on a cold, damp Saturday morning in early December. As we stepped into our local Thornton’s, Layla shivered, and I pulled her into my arms. “Poor thing!” I said. “This really isn’t bare-leg weather.”
“It’s all right inside the shops,” she replied, snuggling up against me. “But we were outside for quite a while there.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I just thought the Santa’s Workshop display was sort of cool.”
“It was,” she said. “But for a minute there I was starting to wish I was wearing leggings!”
I felt her forehead. “Are you feeling all right?” I asked. “You’re talking gibberish.”
Layla giggled. “I know!” she said. “Me, in leggings! Can you imagine?”
I chuckled. “I think you’d look very fetching, to be quite honest.”
We cuddled in silence for another minute. Then, aware that we were being observed by the woman behind the counter, I disengaged. “We should buy some chocolates,” I said.
Layla nodded. Then she looked up at me with a serious expression. “How are you holding up?”
I smiled, a little tight-lipped. “I’m okay,” I said. “I’m starting to accept that I’ll probably never have sex with you, and I might not even ever sleep with you again. But I put a baby in your belly, and that’s something nobody can take away from me.”
Layla looked troubled, but nodded. “Don’t be so sure we’ll never sleep together again,” she said. “Or have sex. You never know.”
I sighed. “Layla, the hope was killing me,” I said. “Accepting it is almost a relief. It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m even enjoying being in my old bedroom again. Now the pressure is off me, to satisfy you in bed, I feel like a big weight has been lifted off me.”
Layla smiled sadly. Then she said, in a lower voice, “Lindsay, I … I need sex.”
I swallowed. I had been anticipating a conversation like this … and dreading it. I had not been expecting it to happen in Thornton’s, but then, there was probably no good place for it. “I understand,” I said, my eyes moistening. “I can’t blame you for that. And I have been thinking about it. I’d like to suggest … I mean … it the two of you are okay with it … perhaps, my dad…”
“Lindsay, your dad and I have been having sex for a while,” said Layla bluntly.
“Oh!” I said in surprise. “Not just … rubbing?”
“Not just rubbing,” she confirmed. “He’s been fucking me all along – ever since his birthday. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
“Ever since … holy shit!” I exclaimed.
“Shh!” she said, looking around. “Look, I’m sorry. I should have talked to you about it sooner.”
“You should!” I said, feeling hurt.
“Layla?” said a male voice behind me. “Layla Foster?”
I turned to see a tall, very good-looking young man in a winter coat and scarf. He had long, curly, dark brown hair, blue eyes, and a few days’ worth of stubble. “My god, it is you!” he said. “It’s me! Paris!”
“Paris!” exclaimed Layla, sounding both shocked and delighted. “Oh my gosh! Fancy seeing you here! Look at you! You got … big!”
Paris laughed. “Yes, I grew a little after we parted ways. You still look exactly the same though.”
Layla giggled. “Well, I did get bigger too,” she said. “But mostly in the chest!” She opened up her coat, to reveal her low-cut jumper dress.
“Oh! Wow – so I see!” said Paris. “And this is…”
“This is Lindsay!” said Layla. “My husband! Yes, I got married! Lindsay, this is Paris – my first proper boyfriend!”
“Nice to meet you,” I said warily.
“Paris took my virginity – didn’t you, you rascal?” Layla teased him. “I was only fourteen! What were you thinking?”
Paris coughed, his cheeks reddening. “Yes, well let’s not shout that too loudly,” he said. “I was only fifteen myself, so it’s not as bad as it sounds, Lindsay.”
“Sounds very Romeo and Juliet,” I said, rather tersely. “So what brings you to these parts, Paris?”
“Oh, I live here,” said Paris. “I have a flat just a mile or so from here. I share it with two other artists…”
“Oh, you did become an artist!” squealed Layla. “I’m so happy for you! I always hated that your dad never appreciated your talent.”
Paris grinned. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m struggling financially, like most artists, but my pieces do sell, and I’m getting by. You should come and meet my friends, Layla! Lovely blokes, all of them.”
“I’d love to!” said Layla happily.
“Here, I’ll give you my address,” said Paris, pulling out his phone. “Can I have your number…?”
They exchanged contact information, and then hugged. “So nice to see you again!” said Layla. “I was so devastated when you moved.”
“Me too,” said Paris ruefully. “I wish I’d tried harder to stay in touch. Hey listen, why don’t you come round this evening? You can meet Seb and Jasper, my flatmates, and catch up on old times. Lindsay’s invited too, of course.”
Layla turned toward me. “Can we?” she asked, in an almost pleading tone.
It might have seemed like she was letting me decide, but I knew the decision had already been made. I could either seem cool by going along with it, or seem petty by making a fuss. Either way, I was sure, Layla would end up going. “Why not?” I said lightly. “Sounds like fun.”
“Great!” said Paris. “See you both later, then.” He stooped, and gave Layla a kiss on the cheek.
“Bye!” said Layla. Her eyes were shining with excitement.
We continued our shopping, our earlier conversation unresolved. We ate lunch at a sandwich shop, but as we sat opposite each other, with several people within earshot, I did not feel we could talk freely. After lunch we resumed shopping, and then, laden with spoils, we returned home.
As Layla prepared dinner, I finally got the chance to return to our discussion. “Darling,” I said, “I want you to know … you can tell me anything. Even if it … if it’s likely to upset me.”
She turned, and smiled at me fondly. “Thank you,” she said. “I know. It’s just that some things … they’re not easy to admit to, you know?”
I thought of my own secret: that I had not actually saved her from drowning. “I can understand that,” I acknowledged. “But you needn’t have kept it a secret from me that you and Dad were having sex. It … sort of makes sense. And honestly, I’d rather you were having sex with him than with Uncle Geoff, or my boss, or Chez, or whoever. And I know, I know, you did have sex with Chez. But that wasn’t your fault. You didn’t even know about it! The point is … you have my blessing to have sex with Dad.”
Layla put down her kitchen knife, and came over and hugged me, her naked breasts squishing against my torso. “Thank you,” she said. Then she went back to her mushroom-chopping. “So … do you want to hear about it? Or would you rather not know details?”
I shuddered. “I don’t need to know the details,” I said.
She smiled, and nodded.
After dinner, Layla put on a short blue dress and some shoes, and fixed her hair and makeup. Then we left the house, and got into my car. With Layla giving me directions, I drove the 6.4 miles to Paris’s flat. As we parked, she turned to me.
“Lindsay,” she said, “are you sure you want to come in? You could just drop me off, and pick me up later…”
“Why?” I inquired. “What are you expecting to happen?”
“I … I don’t know,” she said. She sounded honest. “But the way things have been going lately…”
“Yes,” I said grimly. “But I was sort of hoping that, now you have an outlet with Dad, you might be a bit less inclined to let other men rub their cocks on you.”
Layla hesitated, then nodded. “That’s probably true, actually. All right, let’s go in, and see what the evening brings.”
I followed her to the front door. Paris buzzed us in, and we took the lift up to the third floor. As he let us into his flat, I heard some kind of grungy rock music playing, and I could smell something … odd. I guessed that it was probably marijuana – a substance with which I had hitherto had no experience.
“Come in, come in, find yourselves a chair, or beanbag – whatever suits you,” said Paris. “This is Jasper, and that’s Seb. Chaps, this is my old flame Layla! And her husband Leslie.”
“It’s Lindsay actually,” I said, but I was drowned out by Seb and Jasper loudly greeting us with “Hi Layla!” and “Hi Leslie!”
Paris flopped down into a beanbag. “Come and sit by me, Layla,” he said, “and let’s catch up.”
“Hey Leslie,” said Jasper, “do you play darts?”
“As it happens, I do,” I replied. And I found myself roped into a game of darts, while Paris and Layla talked earnestly on the other side of the room. I saw him hand her his pot cigarette, or whatever they’re called, and she took it without hesitation, taking a long drag on it and then exhaling a cloud of smoke. I frowned; I disapproved of smoking in all its forms, and while I had no objection to the idea of pot being legalised, I did not like to think of my wife doing drugs of any kind.
“You going to throw, or what?” Jasper asked.
One song finished, and another began. It had a very quiet intro, and as I aimed my second dart, I heard a snippet of the conversation between Paris and Layla. “I never stopped loving you, you know,” he was saying. “I never truly got over you.”
“Same here,” said Layla, “though I was angry at you for ever so long. But heck, Paris, you must have had girlfriends…”
But by now the song was getting too loud, and I could not make out anything else. “Twenty-seven,” I said irritably.
The next time I looked over at Layla, Paris was stroking her cheek. Layla made no attempt to stop him; indeed she seemed to be leaning her cheek into his hand.
“Your turn,” said Jasper.
“Hmm?” I said. “Oh, right.”
I threw my darts – not terribly well – and then stole another glance at Layla and Paris. Seb had now joined them, sitting down on Layla’s other side, and Layla had turned slightly so that she cold talk to them both. She was actually pretty much facing me, and with the rather careless way she was sitting, I could see her panties up her short dress.
So could Jasper. “You’re a lucky fellow, Leslie,” he said. “Your wife is gorgeous.”
“Yes she is – thank you,” I replied. “But my name…”
“Whoa!” said Jasper. “Looks like the old flame isn’t quite extinguished…”
I looked back at Layla, just in time to see Paris pull his lips away from hers. His face was still very close, though, and both of them were smiling. Then Layla glanced up at me, and had the grace to look a little guilty.
I sighed, and took my next turn, this time scoring a triple twenty, a single twenty, and a one. “Eighty-one,” I said.
“Nice,” said Jasper. “But heck, are you not concerned about this?”
I looked back at Layla; she and Paris were now full-on kissing, with tongues. Paris was caressing her shoulder; Layla had her hand on his chest. Seb was staring at the two of them in bemusement, then looking up at me, and then back to them. Apparently realising I was not about to intervene, he grinned.
“Well,” I said uncomfortably, “the two of them were once very close. And they clearly meant a lot to each other.”
“And still do, it seems!” said Jasper.
“Let’s just play,” I said irritably. “It’s your turn.”
“If you say so!” said Jasper. “She’s your wife. But I think we’ve practised enough; how about we play a game?”
“501?” I asked.
“I was thinking Round the Clock,” he replied.
“Okay,” I said. “Which rules?”
“There’s more than one set?” he inquired.
I nodded. “In the version I play most often, you have to start by throwing a double. Then you go one, two, three, and so on, up to twenty. Finish with the outer bull, then the inner bull.”
“Oh, I’ve always played it like a literal clock,” said Jasper. “One, eighteen, four, thirteen, six, and so on. And I’ve never started with a double. But what the heck – you’re the guest, we’ll play it your way. What if I throw a double one to start?”
“You get to proceed straight to two,” I told him. I glanced back at Layla. To my annoyance, Seb had apparently taken my lack of intervention as permission to join in; he was stroking Layla’s bare thigh as she continued to snog her old boyfriend. Paris was now cupping and squeezing her breast through her dress.
Jasper tried three times to hit the double one; a rookie mistake. He did, however, manage to get it on the third try. Then I went for the double six, and got the double ten instead. I followed this up with a one, and then a two.
“You’re good,” said Jasper.
“Thank you,” I said. While he took his turn, I checked on Layla again. She was still locked at the lips with Paris, who now had his hand inside her dress. Seb meanwhile had pushed her dress up to her panties; he was caressing her inner thigh, but her panties were getting a bit of a sneaky rubbing from the side of his hand. I was unsure whether Paris was aware of what Seb was doing.
“You really going to let this happen?” asked Jasper incredulously.
I shrugged in annoyance. “Unfortunately this is not exactly an unfamiliar sight for me,” I said. “Layla’s a free spirit. I can’t pour cold water on her bright flame without extinguishing it.”
Jasper chuckled. “I wish more husbands were like you,” he said.
It took me two tries to get the four, and then I missed the five. I swore under my breath. Then I peeked back at Layla. Seb was now stroking her pussy through the front of her panties. “Well that didn’t take long,” I muttered bitterly.
But then Paris noticed what Seb was doing, and he stared in surprise, first at Seb and then at Layla, who looked a little abashed. But then he laughed, and went back to kissing Layla. Apparently he did not mind sharing.
I did, of course. But somehow, the fact that Layla was letting Seb rub her pussy was a little comforting. It made Paris seem like less of a threat. Layla’s ex-boyfriend was a well-built and handsome man, and clearly there were genuine feelings between the two of them. This was something new for me, and it worried me. But if she was going to let Seb play with her body as well, it felt more like Dad’s birthday party – a group situation that must be endured until it passed. Paris could not be all that serious about Layla if he was happy for Seb to touch her … and the same, I guessed, went for Layla.
I got the five, the six, and the seven with my next three throws. As Jasper tried to get the three, I stubbornly avoided looking at Layla. On my next turn I got the eight and nine; on the following turn I only got the ten. Curiosity was eating me up. As Jasper threw a five, and attempted the six, I could not resist looking back again.
Much had happened! Paris had opened up the front of Layla’s dress, and was sucking on her left breast while fondling her right. Seb was now kissing her, hungrily and deeply; his right hand was in her panties, moving in such a way that I guessed he must have a couple of fingers inside her. Then he broke off from the kiss, and looked over at me.
I should have glared at him. Why didn’t I glare at him? For that matter, why did I not march over there and stop him? Because, of course, I knew that this was now my life. Layla was no longer truly mine. The wedding rings on our fingers seemed now like meaningless symbols. We were little more than friends who lived together, and kissed occasionally. Our marriage felt as if it was hanging by a thread; one cross word from me might cut that thread entirely. Clearly, Layla needed her freedom, and my only choice was to let her have it, or lose her completely.
So I simply turned away. Back to the game. Back to the eleven … which I missed three times.
“You seem a little distracted,” Jasper observed. “Can’t imagine why.” He nabbed the seven and eight with his next turn.
I forced myself to focus on the board. Eleven. Twelve. Miss. I retrieved my darts, and kept my eyes glued to the board as Jasper took the nine and then missed the ten twice. I took a couple of deep breaths. Thirteen. Miss. Fourteen. Jasper missed the ten three times. I took the fifteen and sixteen. Jasper got the ten on his second try, then nailed the eleven. I got the seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen. “Nice,” said Jasper. “I don’t think I have much of a chance now. Check out your wife, though.”
I could not help it; I looked over at Layla. And I gasped. She was naked on the beanbag, her thighs spread wide. Seb was thrusting two fingers in and out of her. Paris was kneeling up next to her, his cock in her mouth. She was sucking on its head while pumping its shaft – a sight I had previously only seen from above. Then, as I watched in horror and disgust, Seb pulled down his tracksuit bottoms and underwear, and lay down on top of my wife.
“You’re just going to let him fuck your wife?” asked Jasper.
I was about to retort, out of habit, that Sev was only rubbing his cock on the outside of her pussy, but I realised that I had no idea if that was true. Layla had begun having proper sex with Dad without telling me; as Seb thrust his loins against hers, it seemed rather unlikely that he was not inside her right now.
I turned back to the dartboard, and watched Jasper get the twelve and thirteen. Then I threw at the twenty, so hard and wildly that I missed the board entirely and speared the wall behind it.
“Steady on!” said Jasper.
I forced myself to calm down. I got the twenty, then the outer bull. My stomach hurting, I looked over and watched Seb fucking my wife for a few moments. This was the first time I had watched my wife consciously and deliberately have sex with another man in front of me. (Dr Tan did not count; that was part of our therapy.) And I hated it. Seb, a total stranger, was fucking Layla, and she was apparently loving it, judging by the moans she was making while she sucked Paris’s cock.
“Your turn,” said Jasper.
I missed the bullseye, three times. Frankly, I did not want to hit it. Once I did, the game would be over, and I would have to face up to what was going on across the room. But I could not delay that forever; Jasper had just got the fifteen. Soon he would be trying for the bull himself. I half-heartedly threw again, missed; threw, missed; threw, missed.
“Tricky one, that bullseye!” said Jasper. He then racked up the sixteen and the seventeen.
I glanced over at Layla. Paris, for some reason, was nowhere to be seen. Seb was now lying on his back on the beanbag; Layla was on top of him, straddling him, bouncing up and down. Each time she raised herself up, I caught a glimpse of Seb’s cock, going up inside her. A horrifying realisation now came to me: all those times I had watched Layla bouncing on a man’s lap … had they been inside her? Would she really have kept that from me? All this time?
“Come on, mate,” said Jasper.
I threw. Bullseye.
“Well done!” said Jasper. “You must be very proud.”
I was anything but. I wanted to crawl into a hole.
“Shall we go over and watch the action?” Jasper inquired, smiling.
Paris returned, sans trousers, carrying a tube of lubricating gel. He grinned at me. “Enjoying the show, Layla’s husband?” he asked. He squirted some lubricant into his hand, then thoroughly lubed up his cock. Kneeling behind Layla, he pushed her forward so that she was lying down on Seb. Then he positioned himself carefully, and pushed.
“Aaahhhh!” Layla cried. “Slowly! Slowly!”
Jasper laughed. “Is there room for one more?” he asked.
“Sure!” said Paris. “Just you though, Jasper. Leslie’s not allowed.”
Jasper hastily took off his jeans and jockey shorts. He was impressively erect already as he approached the three thrusting bodies. “You get her mouth,” said Paris. “But don’t worry! We can rotate. She’s pregnant already so it’s fine if you cum in her vagina.”
Jasper got down on to his knees, and thrust his cock at Layla’s mouth. She raised her head, reached up and took hold of his cock, and directed into her mouth without hesitation.
“Oh God!” gasped Paris. “Your arse is so deliciously tight, Layla!”
“And you’re so good at sucking!” said Jasper, his eyes closing.
As a moth drawn to a flame, I could not help coming over to have a look. And there it was: Paris’s cock, sliding in and out of Layla’s anus – a place where I had never even put a finger.
“Want a closer look, Leslie?” Paris asked, pushing Layla’s left knee forward and leaning to his right. I could now see Seb’s cock thrusting in my wife’s vagina, as well as Paris’s cock in her anus.
“Three cocks in her at once!” said Paris. “What a woman! Bet you never imagined this when you said your vows at the altar, did you?”
I had not. But I did not know how to reply. Numbly, listlessly, I walked over to an old, threadbare armchair, sat down, and pulled out my phone. I might as well play some Temple Run while I waited for Layla to finish having fun. But I found I could not concentrate, and kept dying prematurely.
“Aahhh, aaahhhh, AAAAHHHHHH!” Paris shuddered as he emptied his balls into Layla’s rectum. Then he gave her bottom a playful slap.
“Dude!” said Jasper in alarm. “You’ll make her bite down!”
“She wouldn’t do that,” said Paris, still gently thrusting in Layla’s anus. He began spanking her buttocks alternately. “She likes a bit of spanking, I think.”
Layla squealed into Jasper’s cock. Then the doorbell rang.
“Ah!” said Paris, pulling out of Layla and getting to his feet. “That’ll be the others.”
Others?
Paris opened the door, and three new faces entered the flat. Two were men – one stocky and ruddy-cheeked, the other tall and slender – and one was a woman, albeit a very butch-looking one. She had a nose piercing, a lip piercing, two eyebrow piercings, short, spiky hair, and she was heavily-built, with thick calves emerging from skin-tight capris. The breasts beneath her baggy lumberjack shirt seemed rather small, given her bulk. She was carrying a handbag, slung over her left shoulder.
“Is this where the gangbang’s happening?” she asked cheerfully. Welsh, apparently.
“It is indeed,” said Paris, gesturing to Layla. “That’s Layla – sorry, I’d introduce her to you, but she can’t talk with her mouth full. This over here is Leslie – her husband! Leslie, this is Deb, Keith, and Dean.”
“All right, cuck?” said Deb, eyeing me up and down in amusement. “You having fun, watching your wife whoring it up with other men?”
“She’s not a whore!” I said indignantly. “And she’s not a lesbian, either!”
Deb laughed. “Good,” she said. “I love fucking straight girls.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a very large black dildo, with straps attached. She waved it in front of me, and laughed dirtily. “Excuse me while I go and get changed.” Then she sauntered off toward what I assumed was the bathroom.
“What did she mean, ‘gangbang’?” I demanded of Paris. “When did you call these people? Before we even got here?”
Paris grinned. “No, mate,” he said. “Much as I’d love to claim powers of clairvoyance, I had no idea Layla was going to be up for anything like this. Keith and Deb live downstairs with a girl called Judith. Dean’s a friend of theirs; he was apparently just visiting. I texted Keith while I was getting the lube and told him to get his arse here if he wanted to fuck the most beautiful woman he’s likely laid eyes on. And I told him to bring friends if he could.”
I felt sickened. But also strangely relieved. Paris was treating Layla like a piece of meat; there was no way she was going to be tempted to stay with him after this.
“Ahhh … aaaahhhhh!” Seb’s loins spasmed beneath Layla as he ejaculated deep into her vagina. Then he lay still, panting, as Layla continued to bounce.
“God, she’s gorgeous,” said Dean, the taller of the newcomers. He took off his jacket, and handed it to me. “Here,” he said. “Hang that up somewhere.”
Fuck off, I thought to myself, and I tossed the jacket on the floor behind me.
Dean unzipped his jeans, and took them off along with his shoes. As Layla climbed off Seb, she looked over at me, and bit her lip fretfully. Then Jasper, who had pulled out of her mouth, lay down on top of her and thrust his cock easily into her vagina. As he fucked her, Dean thrust his cock in her face, and she opened her mouth, taking it in willingly.
Jasper groaned, and shuddered, pumping more semen into my wife. After panting for a few moments, he climbed off.
“I want her arse,” said Keith. “I don’t fancy sloppy seconds.”
“You’ll get sloppy seconds either way,” said Paris. “I came in her arse.”
“Ugh,” said Keith. “Well, arse is still better. Do you have lube?”
“Yup,” said Paris, handing him the tube. Then he glanced at me. “But why not have Leslie lube you up?”
“What?” I said in dismay. “No thank you!”
“Come on, Leslie,” Keith said with a grin, as he put down the tube on the nearby coffee table. “Lube up my cock for me. Otherwise, you know, I think I’ll go in dry. That’ll be fine for me – a bit more friction that I’d prefer, but I’ll manage – but it’ll surely hurt Layla’s poor arsehole.”
“I’m not lubricating your cock for you!” I exclaimed.
He shrugged. “Fine. Layla, on your hands and knees please.” Then, as Layla assumed this position, he knelt down behind her, and took out his erect cock. “Sorry if this hurts…”
“Oh my God,” I muttered. My humiliation was apparently not sufficiently complete. Frowning angrily at Keith, I picked up the tube of gel, and squirted some into the palm of my hand. Then, with a shudder of horror, I grabbed hold of Keith’s rigid penis, and began smearing it all over with the gel. As I worked my hand up and down his shaft, he laughed in delight. “Doing a good job there, Les!” he said. “Tell you what: I’ll let you decide which hole I go in. If I fuck her arse, it’ll be a bit less pleasant for her … but if I fuck her pretty little cunt, it’ll be a bit more humiliating for you. It’s up to you. When you’ve decided, direct my cock to the hole of your choice.”
“I’m not doing that,” I said stubbornly. “Go to hell.” I took my hand off his cock.
He shrugged. “If you don’t, Leslie, I’m going to fuck her arse, then her cunt, then her mouth, and that’s a lot of nasty bacteria going in places it really shouldn’t. Are you going to put your wife through a potentially harmful infection, just to make some kind of point?”
I irritably took hold of his cock again, and steered it towards Layla’s vagina.
“That’s it,” said Keith smugly. “Guide it in…” He slowly pushed forward, and I held his cock until it had begun to disappear inside Layla. Then I rushed to a box of tissues, grabbed one, and wiped my hand thoroughly, while Paris and Keith laughed in delight.
Deb now emerged from the bathroom, naked except for the strap-on dildo which now stuck out in front of her menacingly. Her breasts were not only small, but saggy, drooping over her rotund belly. I grimaced as she approached Layla, thinking that my wife was going to suffer pretty horribly, whichever hole Deb picked.
But Deb paused. “Looks like this stall’s occupied,” she said. “Maybe I should fuck the cuck instead.”
My jaw dropped in horror. “No fucking way!” I exclaimed.
“What’s the matter?” Dean teased me. “You never had a nice big cock inside that tight arse of yours, Leslie?”
“The name’s Lindsay!” I protested. “And no I haven’t!”
“Fuck … the … cuck, fuck … the … cuck,” said Paris, and then Keith, Seb, Jasper and Dean all joined the chant. “Fuck … the … cuck. Fuck … the … cuck!”
Deb came over and grinned at me, her dildo aimed at my stomach. “Come on,” she said. “Be a sport.”
“I think I’m putting up with quite a lot already!” I said indignantly.
“How about I arm-wrestle you?” she suggested. “If I win, I get to fuck your arse. If you win, you get to take Layla home, right away. How’s that?”
“Hey!” Dean objected.
“Yeah, that’s not okay,” said Paris. “Layla and I still have a lot to talk about!”
“Have some faith!” said Deb, giving Paris an annoyed look.
I looked at Deb’s thick arms. Her offer was tempting, but I strongly suspected she was quite capable of trouncing me at arm-wrestling. “No thank you!” I said.
“Aah, you don’t think you can beat a girl?” Deb teased me. “Or are you just enjoying seeing your wife getting fucked too much?”
“I’m not risking it!” I said. “You look strong, and I don’t want a dildo up my arse!”
“That’s a shame,” she said, with a shrug. “I’ll just have to take it out on your pretty little wife then.”
And take it out on Layla she did, once Keith had climaxed in my wife’s vagina. I winced, and Layla yelped in pain, as the grinning lesbian tank slowly shoved the thick girth of the black dildo into Layla’s vagina. “Aah – it’s so big!” Layla whimpered plaintively.
“No harm in stretching you out a bit,” said Deb with a chuckle, as she pushed the dildo deep. Then she began thrusting. “Yeah, take it like a good little straight bitch.”
I could not help wondering how this worked, from Deb’s perspective. It was not as if she was going to cum inside Layla like a man would. But as she thrust and thrust inside my wife, her arousal seemed to grow, and it occurred to me that part of Deb’s strap-on might be rubbing her own clit. At any rate, after about five minutes of thrusting, Deb clearly had an orgasm. Then she pulled out, leaving Layla’s poor abused vagina gaping open.
Finally it was Dean’s turn; he chose to fuck Layla’s anus. As he pounded his hips against her buttocks, he reached beneath her and frantically rubbed her clitoris. By the time he reached his climax, Layla had almost collapsed in a powerful orgasm of her own.
Utterly spent, she lay on her side, naked and oozing semen. Paris came and lay down next to her. “It can be like this all the time,” he said. “Ditch your loser of a husband. Come and live with us! You’ll get all the sex you want, with whoever you want. And you’ll be with me. And if, who knows, maybe you decide you want to be a one-man woman … well, let me be that man. We both still love each other; that’s obvious. Now that we’ve found each other again, let’s never part again.”
Layla looked torn. “But … I’m married…”
“Bullshit,” said Paris. “In name only. It’s a sham. He hasn’t even fucked you. Get an annulment. Then come and be with me.”
“Ohhh,” said Layla, biting her lip. Clearly, she wanted this.
I knew I stood no chance. Wordlessly, I walked over to the door, opened it, and walked out. I took the lift down to the ground floor, stumbled to my car in a haze of tears, and got in. Then I put my head in my hands, and began sobbing.
Twenty miserable minutes passed. Then I pulled out my phone, and on a whim, I called my brother.
Darren picked up almost immediately. “Hello little brother!” he said. “What’s new?”
“Layla’s left me,” I said dolefully.
“What??” Darren exclaimed. “But … why? The two of you seemed so happy!”
“She’s back with her old boyfriend,” I explained sadly. “He’s an artist. Talented, tall, good-looking … I don’t stand a chance.”
“That doesn’t make sense!” said Darren impatiently. “Layla could have her pick of anyone; you’ve always known this. What changed?”
I took a deep breath. Then I told him everything. Kent, Damon, Grandpa, Geoff, Dad, the birthday party, Dr Tan … even today’s gangbang. I laid it all out: the conversations, the gropings, the fuckings, my own sexual inadequacies … the lot.
Afterwards, Darren was silent for a few moments. Then he said, “Lindsay … you really are an idiot.”
“I know,” I said mournfully. “I should have seen this coming. I should have realised what was going on.”
“Well yeah,” Darren agreed, “but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about you walking out on Layla just now, instead of fighting for her!”
“What chance do I have?” I said tearfully. “I can’t compete with Paris Perfect-Hair.”
“Yes! You can!” said Darren firmly. “Layla had plenty of Parises to choose from, but she chose YOU. She wants to be with you! Or wanted, at least. But since the two of you got married, she’s gradually lost her respect for you. And you can’t love someone you don’t respect.”
“If she doesn’t respect me, can I blame her?” I said. “I’m useless!”
“Bullshit,” said Darren. “You’re the man she fell in love with. The man she married. Sweet, kind, charming … no, you’re perhaps not an alpha male … but I don’t think she was looking for one. But you’ve convinced yourself that you’re no longer worthy of respect. You’ve stopped respecting yourself! And if you don’t respect yourself, why should anyone else?”
“Why indeed?” I sighed.
“Because you’re fucking awesome, that’s why!” Darren shouted. “You landed the hottest woman I’ve ever met, and married her! That’s amazing! You’re amazing! You’ve just forgotten that.”
“Darren,” I said, “I won Layla’s heart because of a lie. I told her I saved her from drowning. I didn’t.”
“You didn’t?” said Darren in surprise.
“No!” I said bitterly. “Some other chap did. But he didn’t want to stick around, and suggested I take the credit. Which I did.”
“Jesus, Lindsay!” said Darren. “Well that was pretty shitty of you!”
“I know,” I groaned. “You see?”
“Yeah, I get it,” said Darren. “You’ve been torturing yourself about this for months, haven’t you? Fearing she’s only with you because of that lie? No wonder you lost your self-respect. Fucking hell, Lindsay.”
“I know,” I said miserably.
“But has it occurred to you that Layla didn’t fall for you just because of that story?” Darren asked. “Heck, you can’t sustain a relationship on just that. Sure, it’s a cool origin story … but what made Layla stick around, Lindsay, was you. She loved you. Maybe she still does. But she sure as heck needs reminding!”
“It’s too late,” I said. “She’s gone.”
“Fuck off with that talk,” said Darren. “This isn’t you. You’re not a wimp, Lindsay! You’re not a roll-over-and-die sort of chap! At least, you didn’t used to be. So pull your head out of your arse, and fight!”
“How?” I said helplessly.
“Jesus, Lindsay,” said Darren, sighing heavily. “I wish I knew how to get the old you back.” He said nothing for a moment.
“It’s no good,” I said. “I…”
“Don’t give me that!” said Darren. “No more negativity! Hey, remember that old nickname you had at school?”
“Wee Willy Winkie,” I said glumly.
“Not that one, you daft bugger!” said Darren impatiently. “I mean the high school one. That your English teacher gave you. From the school plays … you know.”
“Oh,” I said. “Method Man.”
“Right!” said Darren. “You’ve said yourself you were a brilliant actor.”
“I wouldn’t say brilliant,” I replied. “I was pretty good, I suppose. Mr Wexford seemed to think so.”
“The point is,” said Darren, “you know how to play a part. You know how to improvise. You can act!”
“Okay?” I said. “I can’t act my way back into Layla’s heart though. I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not – she knows me. She’ll see right through it.”
“You can’t, for the next ten minutes, play the part of the husband who’s had enough of this shit and is taking his wife home RIGHT NOW?” Darren inquired.
I hesitated. “I don’t know, Darren. Maybe. But what good would it do?”
“What good would it do, for Layla to see you finally show some balls?” Darren asked. “Hmm, I don’t know – maybe a few respect points?”
“She’ll know it’s not real…”
“The fact that you’re taking your destiny back into your own hands will be real enough,” said Darren. “Come on, man – why not give it a try? What the fuck have you got to lose, at this point? Better this, surely, than just give up entirely?”
I nodded. I knew there was a reason I’d called Darren. “I’ll give it a shot,” I said.
“Attaboy,” said Darren. “Now go in there, and fuck ‘em up.”
I hung up. Then I got out of my car, walked back to the front door of the building, and entered. I took the lift up up the third floor, walked over to Paris’s door, and stopped. I took several slow, deep breaths. I shook out my arms. I clenched my fists, and frowned. I pictured myself on stage, playing the part of an authoritarian bully. I rang the doorbell.
After a few seconds, the door opened. There was Paris, fortunately wearing shorts now. He looked at me in amusement. “Leslie,” he said.
“It’s Lindsay, you fucking pillock,” I said, pushing past him.
Layla was still naked, of course, and she was currently being fingered by Seb. I marched over to them. “Your fingers are going to dissolve, Seb, if you keep that up much longer. Luckily I’m here to put a stop to this little game. Layla, get up. We’re leaving.”
“Um, Lindsay,” she said, looking uncomfortable. “I think I’ve decided…”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what you’ve decided,” I told her firmly. “Right now you’re still my wife, and if you want to talk about maybe separating, that’s a conversation you and I will have together, at home, not amongst this bunch of clowns. Now on your feet! We’re leaving.”
“Look, mate,” said Seb, his fingers still inside Layla.
“Did I fucking ask for your opinion, fuckwit?” I demanded. “Get your fingers out of my wife before I break your fucking nose.” I drew back my fist, and glared at him dangerously.
“All right, man, chill!” he said, pulling his fingers out and retreating a few feet.
“Listen – Lindsay,” said Paris, putting his hand on my left shoulder.
I put a lot of power into my punch. The one I had given Chez had felt wonderfully cathartic, and it had given me a taste for more. Paris was taken utterly by surprise, and he went sprawling, hitting his head on the floor. I took Layla’s hand, and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go!” I said.
“Um … my clothes?” said Layla, wide-eyed.
“You’re so fond of being naked,” I said with a tight smile, “I think you can just leave them here.”
Jasper barred our way. “Look, mate,” he said, “I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing here, but you can’t just deck Paris like that…”
“Jasper, either take a swing at me, or stand aside,” I warned him. “But think very carefully, because I’m fully capable of breaking your nose and knocking out a few teeth … and honestly, I’m sort of itching to do that.”
“Yeah right, tough guy,” said Deb, sounding sceptical. “Not long ago you wouldn’t even arm-wrestle me!”
“You think I couldn’t pin your arm down in a heartbeat?” I asked scornfully. “Layla likes to have fun, and to a certain extent I like to play along. But you lot pushed me over the edge, and I’m in murdering mood now. So get the FUCK out of my way, Jasper, or I swear you’ll be crawling around on this floor, looking for your teeth.”
Jasper stepped out of the way. I pulled Layla after me, stepped through the front door, and marched to the lift, with Layla trotting along behind me.
“What are you doing, Lindsay?” she asked, sounding breathless and confused.
“What I should have done a long time ago,” I told her grimly. “I’m taking charge.”
In the lift, Layla hugged her chest, and bit her lip. “Lindsay,” she said, “I’m sorry if…”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I told her abruptly. “There’ll be a time to discuss this later.”
On the ground floor, I took her hand, and pulled her toward the front door. Outside, however, I took her around the corner of the building. I was feeling fired up on adrenaline, and was anxious to take advantage of an unexpected side-effect of my performance in Paris’s flat. I was rock hard, and eager to fuck. “Bend over,” I said, pointing to a pile of breeze blocks.
“Lindsay, it’s cold!” Layla protested.
“Then I’ll warm you up,” I said.
Reluctantly, she bent over, resting her hands on the uppermost block. I lost no time in pulling down my jeans and boxer shorts. After spitting on my hand and briefly lubricating my cock, I thrust it into Layla’s vagina. For the first time ever, I sank deep inside her while remaining fully rigid. Gripping her hips, I began thrusting.
“Lindsay!” Layla gasped, sounding awed.
“I’m going to give you a fucking you’ll never forget,” I told her. And I gradually amped up my pace, over the next couple of minutes, until I was pounding her with all the force and fury I could muster. Layla’s gasps turned to moans, which turned to screams, as I employed my thick and lengthy cock to full effect.
“Jesus, Lindsay!” Layla exclaimed, “you’re going to break me!”
I came with the force of months of pent-up frustration, lifting Layla’s feet off the ground as I held her tightly against my loins, pumping her full of my seed. “Ahhhh!!!!” I groaned, scarcely able to believe I was finally losing my virginity. And not just losing it, but losing it in such a spectacular and mighty manner.
“All right,” I panted, letting Layla’s feet down finally. “Let’s go home.”
“I’m not sure I can walk!” she whimpered.
I deftly picked her up, and carried her to the car. Holding the passenger door open, I gently placed her on her seat. Then I shut the door, walked around to my side, and got in.
Layla said nothing for the next five minutes, as we drove home. But then she said, in a voice full of wonder, “How, Lindsay? How did you do that?”
I smirked. “The confrontation with Paris and co.? Or the sex?”
“All of it!” she said.
I had to come clean. There was no way I could keep this up forever. “I … I had to do something,” I said. “I had to stand up for myself, and get you back. So … I sort of slipped into character – like I was playing a part in an improvised play.”
“Oh!” she said, sounding no less impressed. “Well, it really worked!”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“Lindsay, the sex,” said Layla, turning towards me. “It was … it was amazing! I’ve never been fucked like that, ever. I knew your cock had potential, if ever you figured out how to fix it … but wow!”
I chuckled. “Thanks,” I said.
“Do you think,” she said slowly, “you could do that again…?”
I thought about this, then nodded. “Yes, I’m sure I can,” I said.
Layla hesitated. “I … I’m sorry Lindsay … I was very close to leaving you just now. But … I really don’t want to. I think I’d have regretted it almost immediately, and I’m glad you came back for me. I really want us to be together.”
“I want that too,” I said. “But before I tell you that Dad has to move back into his own room, and you have to stop flirting with other men, and letting them touch you, and so on … before any of that, I have a confession to make.”
“What’s that?” she asked, sounding apprehensive.
I took a deep breath. “I … I never saved you from drowning, Layla.”
She gasped. “What??”
“It was some other chap,” I said, determined to unburden myself, no matter the consequence. “He pulled you ashore right next to me, then vanished into the night. I think he was maybe on the run or something; didn’t want anyone to know he’d been there. He even told me I could take credit for saving you. So that’s what I did, and of course my lie paid off in a bigger way than I could have imagined. But I can’t lie any more. So that’s it. I’m sorry.”
Layla said nothing for a moment. Then she chuckled. “Wow,” she said. “You rascal!”
I raised an eyebrow. She did not sound upset. “Aren’t you angry?”
She shrugged. “You told me one lie,” she said. “A big one, yes, but just one. On the other hand, I’ve been lying to you for weeks about what I’ve been doing with other men. I don’t think I have much right to be outraged. But can we not tell anyone it’s not true? I’d feel awfully silly, and it’s such a good story.”
I shook my head in bemusement. “Um … okay?” I said. “I did confess it to Darren though.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well hopefully he won’t give you away. Nobody else?”
“Nope,” I said.
“Then can we keep it that way?” she asked.
“I suppose so,” I replied, secretly relieved.
“Now,” said Layla, “about other men…”
“Yes,” I said.
“I’ll stop it all,” she said earnestly. “Just please … keep fucking me like you just did.”
“I can’t promise that,” I admitted. “I’ll do my best, but I don’t know how often it will be. Which is why … I don’t necessarily want you to give up other men.”
“You … don’t?” Layla asked in surprise.
“Layla, you obviously have needs far in excess of what I have the energy to fulfil,” I told her. “I’ll do what I can, but I don’t like to think of you going unsatisfied, and resenting me. So I’d like you to go ahead and, you know … have fun with other men. Just please … do it behind my back. I don’t want to see that stuff, and have it rubbed in my face.”
Layla stared at me for a moment, then she nodded. “I understand,” she said. “Thank you.”
We arrived home. As we got out of the car, Layla said, “What about your dad?”
I had been thinking about this. “You can still play around with him, as long as it’s not in front of me,” I said. “But I want him back in my old room. I want to go back to sleeping with you in the master bedroom.”
“Of course,” said Layla. “Thank you. Now let’s get inside; I’m freezing.”
We entered the house, and found Dad in the living room. “Welcome back!” he said. “Did you have fun? Oh Layla – you’re naked!”
“Lindsay made me come home like this,” said Layla ruefully.
“Things sort of came to a head,” I said. “There are going to be some changes around here.”
“Oh!” said Dad. “I see. I’m guessing I’m losing certain … privileges?”
I nodded. “We’re going to swap back to our old sleeping arrangements,” I said. “You can still have some fun with Layla – just, not when I’m around.”
“I see,” said Dad again. “Well, I knew it was too good to last. It’s been such a joy, sleeping with you, Layla. I’m really going to miss it.” His eyes misted up. “You know, it’s late … it’ll take a while to transfer everything back over. I don’t suppose … I could have one last night…?”
Layla looked at me, and raised an eyebrow. I thought about it. Then I smiled. In victory, I could afford to be magnanimous. “All right,” I said. “One last night with Layla.”
“Thank you!” said Dad gratefully.
We all got ready for bed, and I went to my old bedroom. As I climbed under the duvet, it occurred to me that I would actually miss this room, and sleeping here on my own. It did have its advantages.
I switched off my light, and pulled the duvet around me. As I lay awake, pondering the evening’s events, I began to hear the familiar sounds of creaking coming from the next room … along with Dad’s grunts of effort, and Layla’s happy moans. This time, however, I found that they did not bother me at all. I closed my eyes, and smiled.