Right now, she’s in the bathroom getting ready. I can hear the shower running and the clink of her jewelry on the marble counter. She comes out in a black slip that costs more than our first car. Her hair is wet. She smells like vanilla and sin.
It’s one thing to whisper a fantasy into the dark at 2 AM. It’s another thing entirely to watch the sun set on the day you’ve agreed to make it real.
This is “Please Bang My Wife 2.” It’s not cuckolding. It’s not humiliation. It’s a gift wrapped in velvet rope.
— M.
Instead, it made me worship her.
“He’s going to be here in ten minutes,” she whispers. “And I want you to watch him unwrap me.”
So she did. She texted him. He replied in three minutes: “I’ve thought about it since the BBQ. But only if he watches. I need him to see.” Please Bang My Wife 2
To be continued… (or not. Some things are too good to write down.)
Sarah noticed. Of course she did.
She walks over, takes my hand, and places it between her legs. She’s already soaked. Right now, she’s in the bathroom getting ready
Tom is her coworker from the architecture firm. Tall, quiet, with forearms that look like they’ve drawn blueprints by hand for a century. He came to our BBQ last month. I watched him watch her reach for the top shelf. The way his jaw tightened. I didn't get angry. I got an erection.
“Terrified,” I say. “You?”
Sequels are always bigger, right? The first time was raw, drunk, accidental magic. This time, we are sober. Deliberate. The hotel room is booked. The safe word is “blueprint” (we have a sick sense of humor). Her hair is wet