Page 51 of Smut Lovers

“Money isn’t everything,” says Rob.

“Says the rich asshole in front of me,” I blurt out.

He laughs. It sounds like he has not laughed in a long time. I laugh with him. It feels good to laugh.

We make small talk about working in healthcare, countries we’ve traveled to, the political state of affairs.

We don’t mention our husbands at all. When either of our glasses are empty, he refills them.

Our toes meet in the water, but neither of us acknowledge it.

The first couple leaves, then after a while the second one does too.

The pint is empty and so are our glasses.

Rob quietly stares at me. I say, “I haven’t slept with another man in sixteen years.”

He nods. “I haven’t either. Not in twelve years.”

My resistance is low. I can feel how drunk I am. That’s what Rob wanted. Jesse and Greg didn’t need to be drunk to do this. We needed to be shit-faced and naturally horny. And he is a gorgeous man.

Why would I resist? Greg didn’t.

I find myself standing up. Going over to him. He stands up too. I trace my hand up his muscled chest and he lets me. I reach around and touch one solid ass cheek. He reaches in between us and touches my cock. I stifle a moan.

He rubs me and says, “Who fucked who?”

“Jesse fucked Greg,” I breathe out. “After he told Greg he’s always loved him, he got on his knees and sucked Greg’s dick. And Greg blew him back. Then Jesse fucked him. Because when Greg is vulnerable, he likes to be fucked. Jesse makes Greg weak and vulnerable.”

Anger flashes across his face. “Greg makes Jesse weak. That’s why he got on his knees first. Then he would have to show dominance over Greg, to prove to himself that he wasn’t weak. That he was making a conscious choice to cheat on me. To stick his dick in another man.”

Anger fills my chest too, just thinking about that other man being Greg, my husband.

Hurt. Pain. Rage. Betrayal. I feel it from him just as strongly as he feels it from me.

“Fuck them,” I say. “Fuck them both for their conscious choice. We get to make conscious choices too.”

Rob’s lip curls in what is supposed to be a grin but it’s just evil.

He leans into my ear and says, “I’m going to fuck you hard.

I’m going to fuck you raw. I’m going to put you on your knees and fuck your mouth with my 9.

5 inch dick. I’m going to tie you up and put hot wax on your body.

I’m going to fuck your asshole until you can’t walk straight.

Then I’m going to send you home limping, bruised up, maybe bloodied, to your husband.

I’m going to do exactly what you said you want me to do to you. ”

He leans up and looks me in the face. I still have one hand on his ass. He still has one hand on my cock, which is painfully hard.

He waits.

I’m used to being in charge in the bedroom.

Even when I’m the bottom, it’s on my terms and I control the pace, tempo, my own orgasm.

Greg is submissive to me, always. But tonight, I am relinquishing all control to a man whose rage surpasses mine.

I’ve had twenty-two months to manage my feelings. He’s had five days.

I know what he’s waiting for. My consent. I give it to him.

“Yes.”

Rob’s cabin is messy. Clothes everywhere. Food plates pile up. So many empty liquor bottles.

He takes me to the shower. Two shower heads on opposite sides.

Rob turns them both on. He commands me to take off my swim trunks.

As I expect, the stress from the swim trunks causes indentations in my skin.

I grab the soap and begin to lather my body, then hand it to him.

He soaps up his cock until it’s dripping in suds, then he’s stroking it. He comes closer.

Rob does not need to tell me what to do.

I get on my knees, on the hard tile, and put the head in my mouth.

It’s completely soapy. He moves his hand away and grabs a fist full of my hair.

My instinct kicks in and I resist. Rob grips tighter and pushes my head forward.

I keep my mouth open and he tunnels right in as if I have all the room in the world.

Newsflash: I don’t.

He activates my gag reflex, which does not happen often. He doesn’t care. He pushes in even more. There is literally no more room in my throat. I gag violently.

He doesn’t care. He holds my head at an angle to show that I can take more. I’m practically looking up at him. Water gets in my nose and for a split second I asphyxiate. My instinct kicks in again and I start punching him, scratching the outside of his thighs, leaving marks.

Rob yanks my head back hard and his cock plops out. I cough and throw up phlegm. It’s a good thing I didn’t eat much.

Rob is still holding onto my hair; his grip has not lessened. He waits. When I’m done heaving, I pick my head back up. I say one word. “Again.”

Rob smiles.

It’s brutal. He’s literally slamming my head on his cock, thrusting his pelvis into me. Like how Greg had Jesse. Like how I had Greg. But forcefully, more power. I take it. I gag and choke on his enormous cock. My knees are getting bruised from the floor of the shower.

He’s grunting loudly, like an animal, asking me in between if I like my throat being fucked. If I like his big dick. It’s a complete fucking turn on. Suddenly I get the appeal of being submissive.

Rob cums but he doesn’t stop fucking my mouth. It’s thick and chunky, like he hasn’t cum in days. I cough it back up. He notices and holds my head against his pelvis for the last few spurts. I have no choice but to let it trickle down my throat.

He yanks me off him and turns around. Still kneeling, I watch him. I can see the guilt crash over him as he puts one hand on the wall. We don’t speak for a long moment. I try to swallow but goddamn it hurts to do that.

Eventually he turns around. “Maybe we should stop,” Rob says.

“I’m ready to be tied up now,” I respond.

He stares down at me. I stare up. He nods. “Okay.” He leaves the bathroom.

I stand up to rinse off and think, he may be the dominant one, but I sure am leading this whole thing.

By the time I come out, there are three lit candles.

He holds out this twine rope to me. I put my hands in front of him.

He begins to tie my wrists together. I make him do it tighter.

I want it to leave a mark. He understands.

He ties my wrists as tight as he can that won’t cut off my circulation.

Then he leads me to the bed and makes me get on it face up.

He ties my wrists to the headboard. I lay there and watch him.

Rob picks up the candle and comes over to the bed. He waits. I nod. He leans it over slightly and a drop falls out. It hits my breastbone and I hiss; my hands fight against the ropes.

He allows more to drip out. I hiss again. I close my eyes and say, “Keep going.”

He drips it on my nipples. On my groin. He trails it around my collarbone. I squirm and move around, but I don’t cry out.

“Too much?” he asks.

“Not enough,” I say back. “I need to bruise.”

“What are you thinking?”

I look around. “Get that metal spoon off your breakfast plate. Heat the back, then burn me with it.”

“You’re serious?” he says.

“I need to bruise,” I say again.

Rob does what I ask. He grabs the spoon and puts it over the flame for a full minute. I watch him come closer. “Where?”

“The inside of my thigh,” I tell him. He does. I grit my teeth and groan. “Again.”

He does it again and again. I have solid red ovals on my thighs, stomach, shoulders, and neck. After the fourteenth one he says, “These are definitely going to leave a lasting mark.”

“Like how Greg’s affair is a lasting mark on my heart,” I heard myself say.

He pauses. I begin to cry.

“No, no, no,” Rob pleads and holds me against him for a while. “I’m sorry. We should stop.”

“Please…” I say, still crying. “Please just fuck me.”

“Okay,” he practically whispers.

Rob moves between my legs, lifts up my thighs, and begins to lick my ass. It calms me. I hate how good it feels . He comes up and sucks me off while jerking himself. God he’s even good at that. I close my eyes and moan until I cum in his mouth.

I feel him sit on my chest. Without warning, he spits my own cum on my face and laughs. I scowl.

“Open your eyes,” he says while stroking himself. Not my mouth, my eyes.

Fuck, not this, I think, but I do it away.

Rob cums in my right eye. The shit burns and I don’t even have hands to rub it. He laughs again. I start to growl in anger and pain. “I fucking hate you. I hate you and your weak, pussy ass, cheating husband!” I scream at him.

Rob stops laughing. He puts his hands around my throat in anger.

“I fucking hate you too,” he says as he squeezes. “I hate you and that cheating, dickless, crazy, whore of a husband of yours. I want him to die!”

He chokes me until I turn red, then lets me go. I heave and gasp.

Rob jumps off me and looks at his hands in shock. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. I ignore his apology. “We should stop.” I don’t respond.

He unties me. Both wrists are completely red. My eye still burns. My heart aches. I fall asleep from exhaustion.

My eyes open before his. I wait for him to wake up. When he does, I move in to kiss him. He’s surprised. But then instinct takes over. He mounts me. Grinds against me. Kisses me sensually. Sucks my neck for a long time. Our precum soaks our stomachs. Our cocks are steel.

Rob gets up and goes to his bag for lube as if on autopilot. I turn over and allow him to prep me. He thrusts into my ass the way he pushed into my mouth the day before. Non-stop. Unmerciful.

Rob holds my wrists down and fucks me. I lay there and take it.

I let him fuck me hard. My eyes are closed. I can tell his eyes are closed too. There is nothing about it that is personal. It’s a primal need for him. And I have a husband to piss off.

Rob moves methodically. He’s not trying to cum at all. He just wants to see how long he can go. He has to slow down a few times, add more lube, and resume fucking me. He is punishing himself by not cumming. He is punishing me by not ending it quickly.

Maybe we deserve to be punished. Clearly we did something wrong if our husbands chose each other.

Eventually he cries out and pauses with his cock fully inside of me. I felt his cum spread through my insides. Finally, he rolls off me.

I hear nothing so I turn to him. He is staring at the ceiling.

“Rob?” I call.

Robert covers his face with both hands and bursts into tears.

I pull him closer to me and hold this beautiful, arrogant, cocky man who is a complete emotional mess against me, like he did for me the day before.

When his crying dies down a little, I push him onto his back. I grab the lube somewhere in the covers and prepare him. I have to fuck him too. We’re in this together.

I close my eyes and enter him. I suck and bite his neck hard, leaving a large bruise, until I cum inside of him. Rob clings to me and cries the whole time.

Afterward, we lay side by side, in disbelief that we had done it. We cheated. We broke marriage vows. We ignored personal values. We destroyed what could have been salvaged of our marriages. We let tears silently fall down our faces and stare at each other.

After a long time I speak first. “I’m going back.”

He nods. “Same.”

I get up, put on my swim trunks, and leave his cabin.

The flight is longer, over twenty hours instead of sixteen. The drive from JFK is brutal. I hit traffic everywhere I could hit traffic. I get home midday, knowing Greg took the girls to school that Monday morning.

I do not expect him to be home. But he is upstairs sitting at the edge of the bed holding the letter I wrote when I push open our room door.

I can tell he’s been crying. He gives me a glance over then turns away. “How was Peru?” he asks.

“I didn’t hide it,” I say. “I used the credit card.”

“I know. And I spoke to Jesse.”

Anger spread through me. I cross my arms and lean on the doorframe. “Only to ask if he had seen you,” Greg says. “You either went there to kill Jesse or to fuck his husband. And Jesse isn’t dead.”

I don’t respond.

Greg sighs and stands up. He comes closer to me. I know he sees the bruising on my neck from the choking and the burning and the hickies. I stink of traveling. And of something else.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

“No,” I say back. “Just tired. You know. Jet lagged.”

I stare at him. Watch his eyes pool up. But he blinks them away. He steps around me. “Get some rest. I’ll make you something when you wake up.”

The guilt is overwhelming me but I refuse to let it show on my face. “Thank you,” I say curtly and go farther into our bedroom, dropping my duffle bag on the floor.

Greg stops near the steps and says without turning around, “Are you going to leave me?”

I want to. I should leave him.

“No,” I say.

“Then we should go to marriage counseling. Find out if we can forgive each other. Or live with it.”

I try to blink my tears away. “Yes. We should.”

“I’ll call my psychiatrist. See who she recommends.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“I love you, Beau.”

Tears fall. “I love you, too.”

“And no. It wasn’t worth it.” I listen to his footsteps get farther away and down the steps.

My phone buzzes. I look at it.

Home?

Yes

Good. Be safe. And be well.

Before I can respond, the message pops up: This chat is no longer active.

I too block and delete the chat off WhatsApp.

I took a long shower and fell into bed, sleeping for hours.