I spent Saturday alone.
Just me and the bottle. My good old friend Gran Centenario.
But I kept my friend at mostly arms distance.
Mostly.
I didn’t want to be muddled if she came home with him.
After all. He wanted to talk.
Maybe about football. Soccer. Basketball. Politics. Globalism. Or my wife’s pussy.
As the sun faded from the sky, I was hoping he would come. I was looking forward to it.
So maybe my brothers would beat me to death and bury me in a hole.
Not Lopez enough.
Don’t need that stain on the family.
Well, they didn’t need to know, did they?
I’d just see what Sawyer had to say. After all, hadn’t she said they had fucked hundreds of times? Did that give him some kind of say in the matter?
I didn’t know, but we were going to see.
When she opened the door and saw me, we just looked at each other. I was holding my glass friend in both hands.
To show her I was fine, I put the Tequila on the coffee table as easily as setting down a glass of milk. I settled back and raised my eyebrows.
She backed out and motioned to the side.
Appearing in the doorway was Sawyer, looking as dashing as ever.
Another version of me.
I do look that good, don’t I? But my mustache was king; Sawyer didn’t have one. I motioned to the couch as if I was a magnanimous Viking king allowing one of my warriors to sit.
He gave her a glancing look, then settled on the couch next to me.
I lifted my chin at him – a signal that he had his audience. Truth was, I was eager.
Sawyer looked at my hand, but didn’t move.
Smart man. I’m not ready to shake hands yet. If ever.
He said, ‘Alissa has talked a lot about you.’
‘Is that so?’ Not about your dick?
‘The better man got her and she wears his ring.’
I sat, stunned, though I tried not to show it.
He said, ‘I was too stupid. Too slow. Too complacent.’ He looked at her. She was sitting on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. ‘I took the situation for granted. But I wised up… a little late.’
I said, ‘Too late.’
‘That’s the truth.’
‘You didn’t come here to tell me how wonderful I was.’
He scratched at the stubble on his chin. ‘No.’
‘So what is it?’
My wife glanced quietly back and forth between us – watching, weighing.
He took a deep breath. ‘I have… resisted getting too deep between you two.’
‘Looks like you’re pretty well positioned between us.’
‘I’m sorry about that. I…’ He looked at me fully, then away. ‘I find my resistance… crumbling.’
So. It was out. He wanted to fuck my wife. He wanted to slam his bone into her married pussy and violate her marriage vows with a flood of his cum.
And being caught in a place from which I could not escape – and guarded by my ever-erect cock at the prospect – I gave him the answer we both wanted.
If for different reasons.
I said, ‘Go for it.’
He might have wanted something special and cerebral.
I wanted to see her be a true slut if that was the only avenue she was going to allow for herself.
You want to be a slut? You’re going to be one.
He squinted one eye at me. ‘Couple of days ago you punched me for that.’
I inspected his face. ‘You didn’t even have the decency to bruise.’
He pointed. ‘Actually I did. You can see it. Right here – a bit of discoloration.’
I grunted.
I didn’t look at my wife. I wasn’t giving her a present.
Sawyer asked, ‘Anything I… should be aware of? Rules?’
I pointed to my chest. ‘This is my house. I come and go as I please. Doors open. I come, I go. My choice.’
He didn’t study me for more than a second before he nodded once. ‘Sounds right.’
I pointed my finger at his chest. ‘Damn straight it sounds right. If I want to see her be a slut, I see it. She’s my wife. If you don’t like those conditions, we can throw down again right here.’
He held up his hands. ‘I accept them.’
We stared at each other for a few seconds, both breathing evenly and steady.
He nodded again.
I dipped my chin in assent. Not wanting to, I motioned to the Gran Centenario. ‘Tequila?’
He blinked and shook his head in rejection. ‘Uh… no, thanks. Can’t stomach the stuff.’
Fucking gringo. But I was born and raised here by immigrant parents. I spoke English. My Spanish was no bueno. I was a gringo, technically. Still, it felt good to have something over the man. He obviously packed a slightly better version of what I had.
I wasn’t self-conscious about it; I had a good one.
He just… had a better one.
And I really wanted to see him turn her into the filthy slut she had always been by using it on her.
Squirting her face.
Flooding her mouth.
Defiling her ring.
The whole marriage was shot. Why not?
He looked at her. He looked at me. ‘So… now is…?’
I lifted my hand in Catholic benediction.
Alissa had been silent the entire time. Not a peep. Her eyes shined at me with a gratitude I hadn’t seen since our wedding day. She rose and motioned with her hand.
I picked up my friend and unscrewed the cap. Was she really needing some kind of validation? Was this really going to be some big signal for her? A seminal event she needed to determine her place with him and me?
And what was she going to find? She had already taken his ejaculation with eager joy. Was she suddenly going to find that his familiar cock in her pussy was now not as good as her expectations?
She had given me no choice in the matter of her dating; she had informed me she would be dating him. Told me she was going to see him. Wanted to fuck him and had brought him back here. Had sucked him off in our bedroom and taken his cum on her face.
I had no choice in any of that.
She was determined to fuck him, but deferred to Sawyer’s wishes to clear it with me first. It was Sawyer that had given me something resembling a choice. But if his resistance was crumbling, as he claimed, then this choice was just a token before the inevitable.
Still, it was more than my own wife had given me. At least now I was involved.
They were undressing in the bedroom. I watched my wife’s clothing come off for another man. Her graceful figure bent over to slip out of her skirt. The move was so natural and familiar that it made me hard watching her do it for Sawyer.
She had done it with him far more than we had made love together. Her move was likely even more familiar to him. Her mouth and lips on his cock likely as welcomed and routine as I had hoped to be with her in five years. They had fucked hundreds of times. She and I had only been together… thirty times?
He had at least ten times the experience with her pussy than I did.
I might have claimed her, but his claim on her was far deeper and established. No, she couldn’t help her attachments and I hadn’t thought about all of this from her angle.
For the first time, I realized he had every right to be in there naked with her.
He had a right to kiss her. He had a right to finger her – to use her pussy any way he wanted. He had a right to show his claim superseded mine by shooting his sperm onto her wedding ring.
It was natural, simple, and appropriate.
I set my glass friend back down and wiped at my lips.
Actually, I was fortunate they had felt to include me.
And I was hard – so hard my dick hurt.
