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 called Dad.
He answered almost immediately. “Lindsay!” he said. “What’s up?”
“Layla’s left me,” I said dolefully.
“What?” Dad gasped. “Seriously? How come? What happened?”
“We met up with her old boyfriend,” I explained sadly. “He’s an artist. Talented, tall, good-looking … and they’re clearly not over each other. He saw what a sham our marriage is, and he told Layla to get an annulment and live with him instead.”
“Oh Lindsay!” said Dad, sounding heartbroken. “You poor chap! Did she … did she actually say she would do that? Did she tell you it’s over?”
“Not in so many words,” I admitted. “But I know when I’m beaten.”
“Lindsay!” he replied sharply. “Are you telling me you just rolled over and gave up without a fight?”
I sighed. “I suppose so, yes.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Dad demanded. “Don’t you love Layla? Why didn’t you stick up for yourself? And for your marriage?”
Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks. “There’s no more fight in me, Dad,” I told him. “I’m a loser. Layla’s better off without me.”
“Jesus, Lindsay!” Dad snapped. “I wish I were with you right now; I’d slap some sense into you! You’re not a weakling, for heaven’s sake! Pull yourself together! Remember the man you used to be! Go and fight for your wife! She loves you, you love her … and you’re married! You exchanged vows! I get that you don’t feel like much of a man, but you’ve talked yourself into this mess. Now go and talk yourself out of it! Layla fell in love with you; she must have seen something in you that she liked enough to agree to be your wife. Go and remind her that you’re still that man!”
I stared into space. “It was all built on a lie, Dad,” I said. “I told her I saved her from drowning, but I didn’t. Some other chap did. I just took the credit.”
Dad was silent for a moment. “Are you serious?” he said at last. “Well, good grief! No wonder you’re such a mess. Sounds like you feel like you never deserved her in the first place.”
“Exactly,” I said mournfully.
“Maybe you didn’t,” said Dad. “Sorry to be blunt, but that was a rotten thing to do. Lying to her like that, all this time. But you know what’s worse than that, Lindsay?”
“What?” I muttered.
“Taking the coward’s way out!” he said firmly. “Maybe your marriage wouldn’t survive the truth coming out, but for god’s sake, grow a pair and come clean! What have you got to lose?”
“In front of … in front of her new friends?” I asked uncomfortably. “Dad, she’s in the middle of getting gangbanged.”
“She’s … what?” said Dad, sounding astonished.
“Paris and his friends – they’re all having sex with her,” I said bitterly. “And she’s loving it.”
“Well … gosh!” said Dad. “Okay … well it seems to me like she’s acting out. That girl needs sex, Lindsay, and you haven’t been giving it to her.”
“Unlike you,” I growled.
“Oh … you figured it out at last, did you?”
“How could you, Dad?” I blurted out. “She’s my wife!”
“Not for much longer, by the sounds of it,” he retorted. “Unless you go and get her back, right now.”
As betrayed as I was feeling, my father’s words were having an effect on me. I was feeling a little less sorry for myself, a little angrier, a little more fired up for a fight. Perhaps it would all be for nothing, but I felt like I had to do something. Try something. Try anything! And the first thing to try was complete honesty.
“I’ll do it,” I said at last. “I’ll go and tell her the truth … and I’ll try to get her back. I don’t fancy my chances, but at least I’ll have tried.”
“That’s the spirit, Lindsay!” said Dad. “Go and get her. Good luck.”
“Thanks Dad,” I said, and I hung up.
Clenching my teeth, I got out of the car, shut the door behind me, and began marching back to the front door of the building. Taking the lift up to the third floor, I walked up to Paris’s door. My nerve almost failed me at this point, but I slapped my cheek. “Come on, Lindsay!” I muttered. “You can do this.”
I rang the doorbell. After a few seconds, the door opened, and there was Paris, now wearing a pair of shorts. He smirked. “Leslie,” he said.
“It’s Lindsay!” I replied peevishly. “I want to talk to my wife, please.”
He sighed, and ran a hand through his golden hair. “Maybe later,” he said. “She’s a little busy at the moment.”
“No, I … I insist!” I said firmly. “She’s my wife, damn it!”
He regarded me in amusement. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll let you in … if you take Deb up on her arm-wrestling challenge.”
I stared at him, and swallowed nervously. I was not at all sure that I could best the large lesbian … but what if this was my ticket to keeping Layla as my wife? What if this was my defining moment, as a man?
I cleared my throat. “If I win, I get to take Layla home? Immediately?”
Paris pursed his lips. “I suppose so,” he conceded. “But if you lose … you become Deb’s bitch.”
I curled my right hand into a fist. “I accept,” I said. Deb’s arms might be thicker than mine, but mine were longer, and I had a natural testosterone advantage. My chances against her were fair … and if I won, I would have earned the right to hold on to my marriage. And if I lost … well, then I would deserve to lose Layla, too.
Paris nodded. “All right, come on in.” He stepped aside, and I entered.
Layla was still naked, her legs were still spread shamelessly, and Seb was casually fucking her with two fingers. He grinned as he looked up and saw me. Layla looked at me with a partly sad, partly guilty expression. Our eyes met briefly, and then she looked away. I had all but lost her, I knew. This was my one shot at redemption.
“Deb!” said Paris. “Leslie wants to arm-wrestle you.”
“Lindsay!” I said angrily.
“My apologies,” said Paris mockingly. “Lindsay.”
Deb, stark naked and no longer wearing her strap-on dildo, waved me over. “All right Les … Lindsay,” she said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” She took up a position on one side of a low coffee table, sitting with one leg tucked beneath her ample bottom.
My heart beating rapidly, I knelt down on the other side of the table, and leaned forward, placing my right elbow close to the middle of its laminated surface. I opened my palm, as Deb placed her own right elbow in front of mine. Our hands clasped.
“Ready…” said Paris. “Steady … go!”
I put all my strength into it, powering my hand to the left, my biceps bulging as they fought to overcome my opponent.
“Fuck!” gasped Deb, her arm leaning further and further to her right. “He’s stronger than he looks!”
“He has powerful motivation,” said Keith, watching the contest with interest. “He’s fighting for his marriage.”
Encouraged, I drew on all my strength reserves, pushing Deb’s arm down, down, down towards the tabletop. Her eyes, bulging with effort, met mine … and I grinned.
And so did she. I suddenly felt my arm being forced back up to the vertical, and beyond. A desperate sweat broke out on my forehead as I struggled to fight back against the machine-like strength that Deb seemed to have newly acquired.
“Oh dear,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t quite enough, was it Leslie?” And with that, she slammed the back of my hand down on to the tabletop.
Stunned, I clutched my aching shoulder as I stared in horror at Deb. Standing up, she retrieved her strap-on from a nearby beanbag.
“Clothes off, Leslie,” she said. “A deal’s a deal. Time to pay up.”
The thought of being anally penetrated by this woman’s enormous dildo was too much for me. With a yelp of terror, I jumped to my feet and ran for the door. But Paris and Dean caught me, and dragged me back to the middle of the room, laughing.
“Let me go!” I squealed. “You can’t make me do this!”
Paris chucked, and released me. “No, we can’t,” he said. “But a deal’s a deal, right? You made the deal, with full knowledge of the consequences. Are you really going to wimp out, right in front of Layla? Are you really such a coward? Have you no honour at all?”
These accusations were just too much; my self-respect was already at an all-time low, but the small shred that remained was bristling with indignation. “All right,” I muttered irritably. “Let’s just get it over with.” A deal was, after all, a deal. For Layla’s sake, I could endure this final humiliation.
But I did not dare meet her eye as I undressed and got down on all fours. I felt cold wet slipperiness on my anus, and flinched. I heard Deb laugh dirtily behind me. “Trust me, you’ll need this lube,” she said. “I’m being very generous, you know; I just completely emptied the tube.”
Then I felt something pressing against my arsehole, and I gasped, and clenched involuntarily.
“You’d better relax that sphincter, little bitch!” Deb warned me. “Otherwise this is going to hurt like absolute hell.”
But relaxing felt like agreeing to this penetration, and I did not feel like doing that. So I continued to fight, and clench, and my eyes watered copiously as I felt my tight anal muscle being forced open. Then the horrible sensation of something large and thick sliding through, like a defecation in reverse. On and on it went, and I almost fetched as I felt my rectum expand and fill up. What a pathetic sight I must have looked, teary-eyed and mortified, as Deb victoriously thrust her strapped-on dildo deep inside me.
The last tattered remnants of my self-respect now utterly dissolved away, and I burst into tears. I fully relaxed my anus, as Deb enthusiastically thrust the dildo in and out of my rectum, and I sobbed in sheer self-pitying misery.
Paris was almost beside himself with laughter. “That’s it, Deb!” he cackled. “Fuck … the … cuck! Fuck … the … cuck!”
Jasper, Seb, Keith and Dean joined in the chant. “Fuck … the … cuck! Fuck … the … cuck! Fuck … the … cuck!”
I did not want to see Layla’s expression, but I could not help glancing up at her. She was not looking at me, though: her mouth was full of Seb’s cock, and ginger-haired Dean was idly fingering her.
Then my view was blocked, as Keith, kneeling down in front of me, waved his erect cock before my face. “Hey, bitch,” he said. “I want to fuck your wife’s arse, but Deb used up the last of the lube. I need to use your saliva instead.”
“What…?” I gasped.
“You heard me,” he said, grinning. “Suck my cock, Leslie.”
“I’m not gay!” I protested plaintively.
“Neither am I,” Keith replied. “I just think it would be funny as hell to see you give me a blowjob so that your wife will be more comfortable when I fuck her arse. Go on.” He prodded my lips with the tip of his cock.
It is a measure of how low I had sunk, how utterly my dignity had deserted me, that I allowed my jaws to part as he pushed his rigid member into my mouth. The taste of it was awful, and the sense of horror I was feeling was immense … but there was no going back now. Clutching my head with his hands, Keith began fucking my face with vigorous strokes, sliding his thick cock in and out of my mouth, but never retreating far enough for me to shut him out.
Paris, meanwhile, was laughing hysterically, pounding the floor with his fist as he hooted and giggled at my misfortune.
“Hey, this actually feels quite nice!” Keith remarked, spreading his knees apart on the E floor and bucking his hips rhythmically as he continued fucking my mouth.
“Is he actually sucking, though?” Jasper inquired. “Or are you doing all the work?”
“Hmm, good point!” said Keith, and he stopped thrusting. “All right bitch, time for you to pull your weight. Suck me off properly.”
I had obviously never given a blowjob before, but I had received a few, and had a pretty good idea what to do. I did not want to do it, of course, but I had now been utterly broken; I felt as if I deserved this punishment for all my failings which had led me to this pit of despair. And so I began to suck, bobbing my head forward each time Deb thrust into me from behind, and then pulling back as she did. It was not difficult … and yet it was the worst thing I had ever done. I wanted to die.
Dimly, I could hear Layla’s voice. It seemed to have been going on for a while now, but I had been too wrapped up in my misery to take it in. Now, however, I began to tune into what she was saying.
“For God’s sake, Paris, look at him! Haven’t you done enough? Hasn’t he suffered enough? You got what you wanted; I’ve agreed to leave him and be your slut for as long as you want. Just let him go! Please!”
“He can go once he’s swallowed Keith’s cum,” Paris replied.
“What??” said Layla. “Keith was going to fuck my arse…”
Paris laughed. “Keith doesn’t do anal,” he said. “He thinks it’s gross. Now suck my cock, Layla. I don’t want to hear you sticking up for that loser again, okay?”
In mounting horror, I felt the head of Keith’s cock enlarging in my mouth. I stopped sucking, terrified he was about to ejaculate.
“Hey!” said Keith sharply. “Did I say you could stop, bitch? Keep sucking!”
My soul sank into a bleak abyss of nightmarish anguish, as I resumed sucking his cock. If this was to be my fate, I might as well not prolong it. I sucked as hard as I could, bobbing my head back and forth as energetically as Deb was skewering my rectum.
And then it happened. It seemed like Keith’s engorged penis suddenly burst in my mouth, as thick salty fluid erupted over my tongue and into the back of my throat. I coughed, choked, but he delightedly held my head steady as he gently thrust his hips, emptying all of his semen into my mouth. “Swallow it all,” he crooned happily. “Be a good bitch.”
I swallowed; there was little else I could do at this point. Then, finally, Keith pulled out, and I hung my head in shame, my focus now returning to my tortured anus and the buffeting I was getting from behind.
“Oh yeah…” gasped Jasper. “I’m getting close!”
I thought I had sunk as low as I could possibly sink. Now it gradually occurred to me that that was not the case. In mounting disgust and horror, I realised that Jasper had sneakily taken Deb’s place behind me. While I was focused on the blowjob I was giving Keith, Deb’s dildo had been replaced by Jasper’s cock. I was being anally fucked by a man.
I retched, then threw up, my stomach contents spilling out over the carpet just as Jasper groaned and shuddered, his semen spurting deep into my bowels.
“Oh, it’s good to be bi!” Jasper gasped. “Best of both worlds.”
“How does it feel to be a cum bucket, Leslie?” laughed Paris, who was now gently fucking my wife’s face. I could see Layla was crying. Not for herself, obviously; it was clear to me now that she loved and needed this kind of treatment. She was crying for me … because on some level she still loved me, and hated to see me go through this. I was grateful for that.
Jasper pulled out of my bottom with a happy sigh. I collapsed into a foetal position, lying on my side while hugging my knees. But this did not last long, as Keith quickly grabbed my arm and helped me up to my feet.
“Time to leave now, Leslie,” he said.
“Okay,” I replied tonelessly.
I got dressed slowly, and in silence. Then I walked to the front door, and passed through it into the corridor. It shut behind me, and I shuffled forward a few steps, my brain failing to form coherent thoughts.
Then the door opened again, and I heard Paris speak. “Leslie,” he said.
I did not bother to correct him. By now I felt like a Leslie anyway.
“I have good news for you,” he said.
I turned around, hope rising within me. Had Layla perhaps changed her mind? Decided to stay with me after all?
“You can stay married to Layla,” he said, smirking. He was completely naked, and casually leaning against the doorframe. “You’ll never see her again, of course, but she’ll stay your wife. We wouldn’t want you getting over her and remarrying and being all happy, now would we?”
“You cruel bastard,” I mumbled.
He chuckled. “I’m going to get her hooked on drugs,” he said, “and turn her into a prostitute. She’s got skills, and loves to share them! And I might as well profit from that. The drugs will help me hold on to her, in case she ever gets any silly ideas like leaving me, or going back to you. That’ll never happen, Leslie, count on it. You’ve lost her for good.”
I wanted to punch him. Throttle him. Stick my thumbs into his eyes and crush his eyeballs. But all I did was stare down at the floor.
“Oh – one more thing,” said Paris, pushing himself fully upright and stepping toward me. “I just need to pee.” He took hold of his cock, aimed it at my legs, and began to pee all over my jeans.
I stared down at the yellow stream playing back and forth, soaking my thighs through the denim. It did not even occur to me to get out of the way.
“Okay,” said Paris. “Have a fun life, Leslie.” Laughing, he gave me a mock salute, and went back into his flat.
With tears rolling down my cheeks, I turned and walked to the lift.