Chapter 7- Undoing

I’m drowning in a sea of conflicting emotions, watching my wife perched on our neighbor’s lap.

Her body language screams excitement, but there’s something else there, too. A subtle shift in her energy, a loosening of inhibitions that makes my blood run cold and hot all at once.

The age difference between them is jarring, like she’s a sitting on her favorite uncle’s knee. But there’s no mistaking the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips part slightly as she breathes harder.

She’s into this. I can see it plain as day.

The thought lodges in my brain, a thorn I can’t dislodge.

When the game cuts to a commercial break, Emma turns to me with a bright smile. “Hey honey, could you grab me another beer?”

“Sure thing,” I reply automatically, rising to fetch it from the kitchen. Anything to escape the charged atmosphere for a moment, to try and clear my head.

In the kitchen, I grab a beer from the fridge, the cold glass a shock against my sweaty palm. I take a long swig, the bitter liquid doing nothing to quench the fire in my veins.

But when I return, I find them huddled together over Emma’s phone, heads bent close. She’s showing him pictures from our honeymoon, eagerly describing the quaint little boutiques we discovered in Switzerland.

“And this little shop? They had the most amazing chocolate...” Her voice is animated, laced with a girlish enthusiasm.

Marcus nods and smiles, making all the right noises of interest as his hand now rests possessively on her hip.

How the hell did they even get on this topic? I wonder dazedly, handing Emma her drink.

“Thanks, honey,” she murmurs, her eyes still glued to the phone.

As I sink back into my seat, I can’t help but notice how much more at ease Emma seems now. Like she’s settled fully into his embrace, molding herself to his larger frame.

As they continue to scroll through the photos, Marcus’s hand slides from her hip to her waist, his fingers splaying across her ribcage. Dangerously close to the swell of her breasts.

She doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t even seem to register the escalating intimacy, lost in her beer-soaked haze of nostalgia and flirtation.

“And this ... this is where we had some of the best food...” She says dreamily, her voice hitching a little as Marcus’ thumb grazes the underside of her breast. It could almost be accidental. Almost.

“Sounds like an incredible trip,” Marcus rumbles, his deep baritone sending a visible shiver through my wife.

Emma turns to beam at me, her eyes glassy and unfocused. “It was amazing, wasn’t it, baby? Just the best time.”

I make a vague sound of agreement, my throat too tight for words.

The flush on her cheeks and the faraway look in her eyes told me she’d reached that blissful state of tipsy contentment. She’s glowing. Radiant.

The game starts up again, but I barely register it. I’m too focused on the way Emma leans back against Marcus’ chest, giggling at his whispered commentary. She made no move to push him away, her body seemingly molded to his.

I’m hyper-aware of every movement between them, every subtle shift and playful touch. The way her hips rock slightly as she adjusts on his lap. The way her fingers trail along his muscular arms, almost absentmindedly.

It’s impossible not to notice, not to fixate on each small intimacy. My head swims with a potent mix of alcohol and arousal, jealousy and something else. I can’t tell anymore if it’s the beer making me dizzy or the scene unfolding before me.

Needing a moment to clear my head, I push to my feet. “I’m going to make some coffee. Anyone want a cup?”

Emma glances over at me. “Mm, sure. Thanks, babe.”

As I walked towards the kitchen, I heard Emma suggest, “Maybe I should get off now.”

“If you like,” came Marcus’s smooth reply.

But I didn’t turn to check if she followed through. Instead, a mix of relief and disappointment surged through me, and I cursed myself for feeling either.

Shaking my head, I busy myself making the coffee. It takes longer than it should, my addled brain struggling to remember where Marcus keeps everything. I’m tempted to go back out and ask, but something holds me back.

Finally, with everything assembled, I started brewing a pot of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air.

But as I lean against the counter, waiting for it to finish, a pressing need makes itself known. Too many beers, too much tension. I need to piss.

Resigned, I head back out to use the bathroom. And stop dead in my tracks.

Emma hasn’t moved from his lap. But she’s no longer facing the television. She’s turned, her body pivoted, her legs straddling his thighs, her skirt riding up her thighs, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of smooth, pale skin.

And the way she’s looking at him ... I’ve never seen that expression on her face before. Rapt attention, a flush on her cheeks, her lips parted slightly. She’s hanging on his every word, though I can’t make out what he’s saying.

A kaleidoscope of emotions plays across her features as Marcus speaks. Surprise, shock, a flicker of something that looked almost like fear. She doesn’t even glance my way, lost in his words.

Moving robotically, I continue to the bathroom, my mind awhirl. At the entance, I pause, glancing back at them over my shoulder.

From this angle, I could see Emma’s back, her long hair cascading down like a silken waterfall. Marcus continued speaking, his hand now resting on her lower back, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin above her skirt, his expression earnest.

The picture they make is both beautiful and obscene. Intimate in a way that makes my throat tighten, my heart pound against my ribs.

What was he saying that held her so captivated? I made a mental note to ask her later, a knot of curiosity tightening in my gut.

I relieve myself quickly. I splashed cold water on my face, the shock of it momentarily clearing the fog in my mind. Staring into the mirror, I barely recognized the man looking back.

“Get a grip, Mike,” I mutter, trying to collect myself.

Maybe ... maybe it’s time to leave.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I was once again greeted by familiar sight of Emma on Marcus’s lap.

I make it three steps into the room before I falter to a halt, my breath seized in my lungs.

I watch with bated breath as Marcus crooks a finger under Emma’s chin, drawing her closer. She tilts her head back, leaning into his touch.

My heart pounds in my ears, my feet rooted to the spot.

They’re not kissing. Not yet. Marcus is still talking, his voice a low rumble I can’t quite make out. Emma nods hesitantly at something he says.

From this angle, I can only see a slice of her face. Just enough to glimpse the flutter of her lashes, the way her lips part on a sigh. The naked hunger in her expression.

Then, slowly, inexorably, he pulls her in. Their lips meet in a whisper of a touch, barely there. For a moment, I think that’s all it will be. A chaste peck.

But Marcus isn’t done. He surges forward, capturing Emma’s mouth in a hungry, demanding kiss.

And to my shock, horror, my disgust, my wild, unbidden arousal ... she responds.

Melts into him like she’s been waiting for this moment, her arms snaking around his neck, pulling him closer.

Watching her kiss another man, I feel like the world is tilting on its axis. Vertigo swamps me, my head swimming with a dizzying mix of emotions so intense I fear they’ll split me apart.

Jealousy. Anger. Shame.

Excitement. Hunger. Need.

But beneath it all, undeniable and terrifyingly potent, there’s a thrill coiling in my gut, a dark excitement I can’t deny.

I shouldn’t be seeing this. No, Shouldn’t be allowing this.

But I am hard. Achingly, painfully aroused at the sight, their mouths fused in a deep, drugging kiss. She’s making little noises, soft whimpers that shoot straight to my cock.

My feet are like lead weights. I’m trapped, unable to look away, unable to breathe. All I can do is stand here and watch, my senses assaulted by the lewd sounds of their mouths clashing, the soft gasps and moans that fuel the wildfire consuming me from the inside out.

I move slowly, dreamlike, drawn forward by some inexorable force. It’s like I’m outside my body, watching myself drift closer to the obscene scene before me.

My wife wrapped around another man. Her soft sighs and kittenish moans filling the air as his dark hands roam her body, squeezing and kneading.

I should scream. Should rage and fight, tear her away from him. But I’m frozen, paralyzed by the war inside me. Revulsion and arousal, love and hate, all tangled up until I don’t know which way is up.

Marcus’ mouth trails down Emma’s neck, drawing a sharp cry from her kiss-swollen lips. “Oh my god...”

The naked want in her voice rips through me, a barbed hook in my gut. She’s never sounded like that. Never lost herself so completely, so wantonly.

It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. And the most devastating.

Lost in a haze of lust, Emma doesn’t even register my presence. But Marcus does. His dark gaze finds mine over her shoulder, a question in their depths.

Is this alright?

I stare back mutely, my throat working around the sudden lump lodged there. I have no answer for him. No words at all.

I’m drowning in confusion, in a maelstrom of conflicting emotions and desires. I don’t know what I want anymore. Don’t know anything except the aching throb of my cock, the sour churn of my stomach.

Marcus must take my silence for assent. For permission to continue.

Holding my gaze, he leans in to whisper something in Emma’s ear. She draws back slightly, her eyes wide and glassy. Nods jerkily, a flush riding high on her cheeks.

He smiles. “Then why don’t you get down there, sweetheart?”

Emma obeys. Sinks gracefully to her knees between his spread thighs, her slender fingers reaching for his waistband.

Marcus lifts his hips obligingly, letting Emma drag his shorts down his legs. And then...

“Holy shit,” she breathes, her eyes going huge. Round as saucers as she takes in the sheer size of him, the thick length jutting obscenely from his groin.

Even from here, I can see how massive he is. Easily dwarfing my own respectable endowment.

Uneasiness sears through me, hot and curdling. Followed swiftly by an even more sickening rush of pure, molten lust.

It was thick, long, and undeniably impressive, surpassing anything I’d seen in even the most porn movies. My ego deflated like a punctured balloon, a sense of inadequacy washing over me.

It’s so obscenely large, so visibly male, that the intellectual arguments I’ve constructed against this whole scenario crumble to dust.

My wife is on her knees for another man. Staring at his cock with a mixture of shock and something that looks a lot like lust.

She wants it. Wants him. I can see it in the flush of her skin, the dampness of her lips as she wets them unconsciously. The way she sways forward, drawn to his heat like a moth to flame.

“What,” he teases, his voice laced with amusement, “never seen a cock before?”

“Of course I have,” she stammers, her gaze glued to his impressive member. “But this is...”

She trails off, her voice thready with awe. With hunger, unspoken thoughts, with desires I’m too scared to name.

Marcus chuckles. “Well, it can get bigger.”

Bigger.

The word explodes in my mind, a nuclear blast of anxiety and arousal.

Jesus Christ. How could someone be that size? It defied logic, defied everything I thought I knew about the male anatomy.

A strangled sound escapes Emma’s lips. “No way...”

“Why don’t you find out?”

Marcus’s words are a challenge, a dare.

I watch, transfixed and horrified, as Emma gazes Marcus’ massive manhood, its smooth, hairless skin a testament to meticulous grooming. Even at his age, he maintained a level of care. It’s obscenely large, veined and throbbing, the bulbous head glistening with pre-cum. His balls are heavy and full, resting on the couch like ripe fruit waiting to be plucked.

When Emma wraps her small, delicate hands around his girth, I nearly pass out. She can barely encircle him, her fingers straining to meet.

She gives it a tentative stroke, a giggle escaping her lips. “Jesus Christ,” she breathed, “How...?”

Marcus shrugs, a lazy smile playing on his lips. “Genetics, I guess.”

She shakes her head, still marveling. “This is way too much.”

Then, to my shock, she lifts his massive cock and places it against her face, nuzzling into it like a cat. “God, it practically covers my whole face!”

Marcus laughs, low and deep, a sound that vibrates through the room, through my bones. He murmurs something I can’t quite catch, but it makes Emma grin wickedly.

She begins to stroke him in earnest, both hands working his shaft. Pumping him with growing enthusiasm, her eyes glued to his engorged flesh like it’s the most mesmerizing thing she’s ever seen. Her touch becomes more confident, her gaze more intense.

The sight of her, so focused, so uninhibited, ignites a fire in my blood, a potent cocktail of jealousy and raw lust that threatens to consume me.

And then, just when I think I can’t take another second of this, Marcus looks at me. His gaze meets mine across the room, holding that same unspoken question.

‘Is this alright?’

I stare back mutely, my throat working around the sudden lump lodged there. Again, I have no words. No answer to give him.

This is wrong. Stop this. Leave.

The commands echo in my mind, but my body refuses to obey.

I’m lost. Adrift in a sea of confusion and want, drowning in the riptide of my own fucked-up hunger.

Taking my silence for assent again, Marcus turns back to Emma. A smile plays on his lips, his hand coming to rest on her head, his fingers threading through her hair.

“Why don’t you give it a little kiss, dear?”

Emma flushes, her eyes glazing over with lust. The alcohol, the attention, and something else I can’t name has stripped away her usual inhibitions, leaving her raw, vulnerable, and undeniably desirable.

She’s so far gone.

“Okay,” she breathes.

She leans in, her movements deliberate now, and presses her lips to the swollen head of his cock. It’s a soft, chaste kiss, barely there.

The moment her lips make contact, I nearly cum in my pants. A bolt of pure electricity shoots through me, my dick throbbing in the confines of my jeans.

I palm myself roughly, biting back a groan. Trying desperately to hold on, to keep from exploding. I close my eyes, but the image is already seared into my brain, playing on repeat like a broken record. My wife. On her knees. Kissing another man’s cock.

“Like that?” She asks, glancing up at Marcus from beneath her lashes. Coy and kittenish.

“Just like that,” he rumbles, his fingers flexing in her hair.

Emma grins and opens her mouth, her pink tongue darting out to taste.

But Marcus stops her with a gentle tug on her hair, making her blink up at him in confusion. “Ah-ah,” he chides playfully, “not like that, dear. You can’t just take it all in like that, not with this monster.”

A strangled quiet laugh escapes my lips. The sound is foreign, unnerving.

“Okay,” she drawls, a playful challenge in her voice. “So, what do you want?”

“Start from the base,” he instructs. “Give it a few more kisses.”

She hesitates, her brow furrowing, then a look of understanding dawns, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

Slowly, almost reverently, she lifts his massive cock until it’s pressed flat against his stomach. Exposing the heavy dark sack beneath.

I stop breathing. Stop thinking. Can only watch, paralyzed, as my wife lowers her head. As she presses a soft, wet kiss at the base of his shaft, her lips lingering for a moment before moving back up.

“Like this?” She whispers, glancing up at him again.

He groans, his body tensing. “Yes, dear. Just like that.”

Emma continues her delicate assault, peppering his shaft with soft, chaste kisses, her lips fluttering like butterfly wings against his dark skin. Mapping every ridge and vein with her lips, her tongue. She moans softly, the sound barely audible but charged with a pleasure that cuts me to the core.

Marcus watches her with a hooded gaze, a low groan escaping his lips every now and then. “I can tell you don’t do this often.”

Emma flushes, ducking her head. “I ... I blow Mike pretty often,” she stammers, “It’s just...” she hesitates, then blurts out, “Yours is just so big.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. She’s comparing me to him. The thought of her struggling to accommodate his size, her inexperience with such an enormous cock- Makes my cock throb and leak, my balls drawing up tight.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Marcus chuckles, his voice laced with amusement. “I’ll guide you. Why don’t you get me nice and wet, hmm?”

Emma obeys eagerly, spitting onto his thick shaft. But it’s barely enough to coat him, a thin sheen of moisture that barely covers him.

“Not like that, dear,” he admonishes gently. “Really work up some spit for me and try to get it wet.”

Her gaze locks onto his, a mix of uncertainty and eagerness in her eyes. She works up a generous pool of saliva, then lets it dribble down his length, coating him with a slick sheen.

“Like this?”

“Perfect,” he replies. “Now do the same to your hands.”

My wife obeys without hesitation, spitting into her cupped palms. Then she wraps her small hands around his girth once more, stroking him root to tip.

“Is this better?”

“Much better,” he replies, his voice strained. “Such a good girl.”

I see a visible shiver run through Emma at his praise, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of crimson.

“Now,” Marcus instructs, his voice a husky murmur, “start from the bottom and work your way up with your tongue.”

Oh God. Oh fuck.

I hold my breath, my heart slamming against my ribs, as Emma does exactly that.

Leans in and drags the flat of her tongue along the underside of his cock, tracing the thick vein there, her movements slow and deliberate.

Marcus lets out a shuddering groan, his head falling back against the couch. “Fuuuuck. Yes, just like that.”

Emma giggles, pleased by his reaction. Emboldened, she does it again, licking him like an ice cream cone. Swirling her tongue around the swollen head, lapping at the pre-cum leaking steadily from the slit.

“Mmmm,” she moans, the sound soft but unmistakably erotic, and it sends a jolt of pure lust through me. “You taste ... funny,” she teases, her voice laced with a sultry lilt that I’ve never heard before.

It’s a voice that belongs in a dark, smoky jazz club, not in Marcus’s living room, not with my wife.

“Well, you’re about to get a whole lot more of it, dear.”

I can’t tear my eyes away as Emma laps at his cock like a kitten with cream, her pink tongue swirling and stroking. She traces every ridge and vein, mapping his contours with obvious relish.

It’s a scene I shouldn’t be witnessing. A betrayal of everything I thought I knew, everything I believed about my wife, about my marriage, about myself.