Mike and Emma's Tale Book 2
Copyright© 2024 by Melissa Jewels
Chapter 9
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 9 - Marriage is all about discovery, right? For Emma and Mike, that discovery led them to cross a line they never thought they’d approach. They’ve taken the plunge, but now what? Do they go back to their normal routine, pretending it never happened, or keep exploring this strange, exciting path they’ve stumbled onto? How far can love stretch before it breaks?
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic True Story Cuckold Sharing Slut Wife Wife Watching MaleDom Rough Spanking Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Interracial Black Male White Female White Couple Exhibitionism Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Squirting Tit-Fucking Voyeurism Slow
After three weeks...
“So, next week ... Tuesday, right? 3 pm?”
“Yes, boss. Mr. Peterson has confirmed. I’ve already sent you the meeting details.”
Sheila’s voice crackles through the phone, efficient as always.
“Got it. Thanks, Sheila.”
I disconnect the call and shove my phone into my pocket. Peterson. Just saying the name makes my blood pressure spike. Landing this account, it’s been a game-changer for the firm, a financial windfall, and a personal validation all rolled into one.
But it’s also been a fucking headache. The man is demanding, impatient, and has a knack for micromanaging that would make a control freak cringe.
The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside, my gaze immediately landing on a familiar figure.
“Hey, Marcus.”
“Mike.”
He doesn’t sound as enthusiastic as usual, his voice lacking its usual warmth. He’s standing in the corner, his shoulders slumped, his gaze fixed on the floor. There is another other guy in lift I vaguely recognize as one of the older residents from the building.
As the elevator ascends, I study Marcus closely. He looks... rough. There are dark circles under his eyes, and the usual easygoing smile is missing, replaced by a tired frown. He looks ... well, he looks horrible.
“Everything okay, man?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “You look like ... well, you look like shit.”
“I feel like it,” he offers a weak smile. “Just ... one of those days.”
“What happened?”
“It’s this kid at the youth center...” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Bright kid. Real potential. But he’s trouble. A real pain in the ass.”
“Drugs?” My mind goes to the worst-case scenarios, the kind of things I see on the news.
“No, nothing like that. He’s just ... rattled. Lost.” He shakes his head. “Grew up on the streets. Never had a real home, a family ... Naturally he’s got lot of anger.”
“So what? Is he throwing tantrums?”
He chuckles dryly. “Worse. Picking fights. Getting into trouble, mouthing off to the staff, skipping sessions ... the whole works. It’s tough.”
“Sounds like ... lot.”
“Oh it is. It’s tough, trying to reach these kids sometimes. Trying to break through the walls they build around themselves. Add to that their age, eighteen ... nineteen full of hormones.”
“Sounds intense.” I shake my head, a pang of sympathy mixing with the relief that my own life, for all its complications, is relatively ... normal. “He’ll come around, I am sure you’ll get through to him” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m reassuring him or myself. “It just takes time.”
“I sure hope so.”
The elevator dings, signaling my floor. I step out, turning back to give Marcus a nod. “Good luck with that. I’ll catch you later.”
He waves back, his smile a little brighter this time.
Back in the apartment, I settle onto the couch, my phone in hand. The familiar routine – news feeds, email, social media – washes over me, a wave of information and distraction.I see a message from Carter— a long, rambling email about some legal issue with the Peterson merger, his usual blend of panic and pedantry.
He’s still freaking out about some clause in the Peterson merger.
John— relax. Keep pushing forward. We’ll get there. Trust me.
I fire off a quick reply, my tone firm but reassuring. It feels good, this sense of control. My company, my deals, my life...
I lean back, letting out a long, slow sigh.
It’s strange, this ... this feeling of both clarity and confusion that seems to have become my new normal. I’m in control. At work, at least. The Peterson deal is moving forward, the numbers looking good, and the company is thriving. It’s everything I ever dreamed of, everything I worked so hard for.
But at home ... well, let’s just say things are a little more... complicated.
How long has it been?
A month? Six weeks?
Time seems to warp and twist these days, the memories of that day— Emma and Marcus, right here in this very living room — both vivid and surreal.
I remember the first time we walked into this apartment. So excited. So eager. It’s hard to believe that we were once that naive couple, freshly arrived in New York, excited about our new life, our new apartment, completely oblivious to the dark desires that lurked beneath the surface.
It’s almost ... funny.
I get up and head into the kitchen. Emma’s standing at the stove, her back to me, her ass looking more and more... appealing every day. The memory of his dark hands on her, of his cock buried deep inside her ... it sends a familiar heat through me, a dark, possessive urge that I can’t quite control.
I can’t resist. I sneak up behind her and give her a playful smack.
“Hey!” She yelps, whirling around and swatting at me with a dish towel. “What was that for?”
“No reason.” I grin, pulling up a stool and sitting down at the counter. “Just ... appreciating the view.”
She shakes her head, but I see the smile playing on her lips as she turns back to the stove.
“Any plans tonight?”
“Nope. I’ve got some work to catch up on this afternoon, but after that ... I’m free.”
“Good.” I pause, my heart starting to beat a little faster. “I was thinking ... maybe we could have a ... a date night?”
“Ooh? Where to? Another fancy restaurant?” Her eyes twinkle with amusement.
“Not ... not exactly. I was thinking ... maybe we could ... invite Marcus over?”
She stops, her movements freezing. “Marcus?”
“Yeah.”
“For ... for dinner?”
“No, not for dinner.”
“Oh...”
The silence stretches between us. I watch her face, trying to decipher the emotions flickering behind her eyes— hesitation, curiosity, a hint of the same reckless thrill that’s been consuming me.
“So...” I break the silence, my voice a little too casual. “Should I ... or should I not?”
Emma sighs, leaning back against the counter, her gaze meeting mine. “Is this ... is this what these are now, then? Our... dates? Us and...”
“I don’t know, Em.” I shrug, trying to lighten the mood. “Kind of?”
“It’s ... pretty bizarre, Mike.” She shakes her head, a disbelieving laugh escaping her lips. “Whatever this is ... it’s definitely not your average Saturday night.”
“So ... you don’t want me to call him, then?”
“No! That’s not ... that’s not what I said.”
She falls silent again, and I watch as her brow furrows, her lips pursed in thought. She’s still wary, I can tell. Unsure. And honestly, I don’t blame her. This whole thing ... it’s a minefield, and we’re both tiptoeing around, afraid of setting off an explosion.
“Look ... Em, if you’re not comfortable...”
“It’s not that, Mike. Not really.” She takes a deep breath, her gaze meeting mine. “I’m ... I’m still trying to wrap my head around ... around everything, I guess.” Then, she sighs and squares her shoulders. “You know what? Call him.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.” She nods firmly. “Look, I’ve been ... doing some thinking, some... research. Reading up on this ... this... lifestyle, I guess you’d call it. And...” She pauses. “We can’t just stay in this ... this in-between place forever, can we? You like it. I like it. And we’ve both decided ... we’re going to go over the fence, right?’ I mean we’ve ... we’ve already been over the fence.” She smiles, a sudden flash of that mischievous spark I love. “So ... let’s just... do it, okay? No more hesitation. No more second-guessing.”
“Research?” I raise an eyebrow. My wife ... doing research on this?
“Yeah.” She explains. “Forums, articles, blogs ... you know ... I’ve been reading other people’s stories Trying to ... understand. You sent me some links, remember?” She shrugs. “It’s ... eye-opening, to say the least. I even found a few articles by researchers on this stuff. You know ... for educational purposes.”
“Okay, then. I’ll text him,” I grab my phone.
“Great!” Emma’s eyes sparkle with a mix of excitement and something that looks a lot like nervousness. “But ... tell him to come a little later, okay?”
“Okay, I’ll tell him to swing by around ... say, eight?”
“Actually...” She pauses, a thoughtful look on her face. “A little later. Maybe nine or so?”
“Why? Got another hot date lined up?” I can’t resist teasing her.
“Very funny.” She rolls her eyes. “I just ... need to get ready. You know how long it takes me.”
“Get ready?” I chuckle. “What are you going to do? Hire a glam squad? Get your hair and makeup professionally done?”
“Very funny. You did say this was a date, didn’t you?”
“So, you’re going to get all dolled up for our... guest?”
“Actually...” She comes closer, wrapping her arms around my neck, her body warm against mine. “I did a little online shopping the other day. And I think I found something... perfect for the occasion.”
“What is it?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
“Nuh-uh. You’ll just have to wait and see.” She leans in, her lips brushing my ear, her breath warm on my skin. “But trust me, honey ... it’s... naughty.”
“Naughty, huh?”
“Oh, yeah.” She nods, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and a shy pride that makes my heart pound. “I can’t wait to show you. To show him.”
“Someone’s excited,” I tease, but I can’t deny the thrill that shoots through me, the knowledge that this whole thing ... this arrangement ... it’s as much about her pleasure as it is about mine.
“You have no idea.” She leans in again, her lips close to my ear, her voice a husky whisper. “I’ve been waiting for this...” She nibbles playfully on my earlobe, then pulls away, her eyes meeting mine.”I have a feeling you’re going to love it.”
And then, with a final wink and a sway of her hips that makes my blood rush, she’s walks away.
I watch her walk away, rubbing my ear, a smile tugging at my lip.
When did she order this? This... outfit? Was she planning this? Anticipating it?
Whatever. Game on.
I grab my phone and shoot Marcus a text.
Mike: Hey, Marcus. You free tonight?
A minute passes, then:
Marcus: Yeah, why?
Mike: Any plans?
Marcus: Nothing serious. Thinking of pouring myself a scotch and calling it a night.
I hesitate, taking a deep breath. Even after everything, there’s a knot of apprehension in my stomach, a mix of fear and excitement.
Mike: Emma wants to see you tonight.
He sees the message almost immediately, but doesn’t respond. I watch the three little dots pulsate on the screen, a silent countdown to ... what?
Marcus: Is that so?
Mike: Yep. So ... you down?
Marcus: Did you two talk about this?
Mike: We did.
Marcus: You on the same page? About ... everything?
Mike: Yup. Never been more clear.
Another long pause. Then:
Marcus: Fine. I’ll be there. Need to let off some steam after a shitty day anyway.
Mike: Great.
Marcus: Say, 8 pm?
Mike: How about 9 or 9:30?
Marcus: No problem. See you then.
I set my phone down, a sigh escaping my lips. We’re doing this again. The knowledge sends a strange, unholy excitement through me.
It’s insane. It’s outside of every rule, every societal norm I’ve ever known. It’s batshit crazy. And it’s so fucking hot.
My mind races, conjuring images, fantasies, scenarios ... Emma, naked and willing, begging for him, her cries echoing in my living room. My living room! The thought is both terrifying and thrilling, a potent cocktail of guilt and desire.
Where will tonight lead? What lines will we cross? What truths will we uncover?
I don’t have a clue. But a part of me, a reckless, hungry part, can’t wait to find out. This is new territory, uncharted, dangerous.
And I’m diving in headfirst.
The hours tick by, a slow, agonizing countdown. I try to focus on work. But it’s no use. My mind keeps drifting, my body buzzing with a nervous energy that has nothing to do with quarterly earnings or stock options.
Emma disappeared into the bedroom hours ago, with strict instructions not to peek. “A girl needs her secrets,” she’d said, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Honestly, how long does it take to get ready? It’s not like she’s heading to the Met Gala.
But there’s a part of me—a part I’m not entirely comfortable admitting to—that enjoys the waiting, the anticipation. I like knowing that she’s back there, taking her time, getting ready for this, for him. The effort, the care she’s putting into it ... it’s a turn-on, a silent confirmation of the desires we’ve unleashed.
And from the glimpses I’ve caught – a flash of lace, a tantalizing glimpse of smooth skin—whatever she’s got planned ... well, let’s just say it’s definitely worth the wait.
The doorbell rings, a sharp, jarring sound that snaps me out of my thoughts. My pulse quickens, a familiar mix of anxiety and excitement coursing through me. Showtime.
“Come on in!”
I invite Marcus into the apartment, and we settle onto the couch, a couple of scotches from my liquor cabinet in hand.
We talk, easily at first. About work, about the unseasonably warm weather, about the latest political debacle that’s got everyone riled up. The kind of conversation we’ve had countless times before, a familiar dance of male bonding.
“So...” Marcus pauses, taking a sip of his scotch. “You and Emma ... you talked about this?”
“Yeah, Marcus, we talked.” I sigh, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice. “Jeez, man, how many times are you going to ask that?” I can’t help but tease. “It’s not like you haven’t seen the menu. It’s all right there, laid out on the table, ready to be ... devoured.”
He chuckles. “Just making sure, Mike. I’m asking because I care. About you guys. Your marriage is...”
“The priority,” I interrupt, not wanting to have this conversation again, not with him. “Trust me, we’re on the same page. It’s all ... it’s all good. She wants this, I want this ... We have never been more clearer about it.”
I know I am being a little defensive. I get it. In a weird way he’s looking out for me, or for us. But I’m tired of having to reassure anyone at this point. Tired of explaining myself, of justifying my desires. This is my life. My marriage. My choice. And he has got nothing to with that aspect of us.
He nods, his expression sincere. “That’s great, Mike. I’m glad to hear it.”
“I would like to think so too.”
“So ... thinking team can pull it off this week? It’s going to be a tough match, but...” He trails off, his gaze shifting to the television, where a football game is playing, sound muted.
“Tough to say, really.” I take a sip of my scotch, my gaze following his. “They’ve got a killer defense, that’s for sure. But our offense has been on fire lately.”
“They’re going up against Miami, right?”
“Yeah. Miami’s looking pretty strong this season. But...” I shrug, “It’ll be a close one. We’ve got a few tricks up our sleeves. We’ll see what happens.”
“They need to step up their game if they want to take home the trophy. It’s do or die time.”
“They’re playing the Giants next week, right? Maybe we should head down to the stadium, catch it live.”
“Wish I could,” he sighs, his shoulders slumping.
“What? Why not?”
“That kid ... the one I was telling you about earlier? Well, I just got off the phone with him, and we ... we made a deal.” He pauses, rubbing a hand over his face. “Seems he’s into ... MMA. UFC fighting, all that stuff. I kinda ... promised to take him to a match if he behaved this week. Kept his nose clean.”
“How old is this kid, anyway?”
“Seventeen, maybe eighteen?”
“Wow. And he’s already such a menace. Can’t imagine what he’ll be like all grown up.”
“Don’t I know it,” he sighs. “But ... you can’t really blame him, can you? The kid never really had a chance. Life ... it deals some people a shitty hand.”
“I get it, man. I’m not blaming him,” I take another sip. “So, you went with the ... carrot and stick approach, huh?” I grin. “Reward good behavior with ... cage fights?”
“Yep. And it seems to be working.”
“Yeah, but what happens when you run out of carrots?”
He groans. “I don’t know, man. I’m worried enough as it is.” He runs a hand through his hair, his face creased with a worried frown. “God, I hope he doesn’t ask for anything ... too ludicrous.”
I laugh. “Relax, I’m sure his next request will be something totally reasonable. Like ... the keys to your car, maybe?”
“Mike! Stop it! I swear to God, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
“Just trying to lighten the mood.” I grin, enjoying his discomfiture a little too much.
We’re back to our old dynamic, the easy banter, the shared laughter ... for a moment, it almost feels like things are back to normal.
“Enough about my headaches.” Marcus sets down his glass with a sigh. “Let’s talk about your wins. How’s that big Peterson deal coming along? You guys closing in on a final agreement?”
“It’s going well.” I nod, taking a sip of my scotch, the familiar burn a welcome distraction from the unease that’s been simmering in my gut. “We’re finalizing the last few details. Should have everything wrapped up by Tuesday.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Yeah, but...” I hesitate, thinking about Peterson, about his micromanaging tendencies, his constant demands for reassurance. “The guy is paranoid as hell. Seriously. He second-guesses everything ... It’s like he doesn’t trust me to...” I stop myself, realizing I’m starting to sound like Carter, all flustered and uncertain.
“Sounds like you need to show him who’s boss.” Marcus replies. “The best way to deal with guys like that ... is to be strong. Assert yourself. Don’t back down.”
“I don’t think that’ll work with Peterson. He’s a control freak, Marcus. A real piece of work.”
“Trust me, Mike, I’ve dealt with guys like him my whole life,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “They’re not really control freaks, not deep down. They’re just scared. Scared that the people they’re dealing with will drop the ball, won’t live up to their expectations. They need reassurance, a strong hand on the wheel. You’ve already proven you’ve got what it takes, Mike. That’s why they offered you the deal in the first place.” He leans forward, his gaze intense. “Now ... you just gotta show them you’ve got the balls to close it.”
“So ... what you’re saying is ... I should be a dick?”
He chuckles. “Sometimes, Mike ... being a dick is exactly what it takes to get things done.”
“You think so?”
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