Chapter 5

Hope you’re enjoying the story, here’s chapter 5. For realistic highly NSFW images (free) that accompany the text checkout my fanvue (also some on my reddit u/infinite_eleven): https://www.fanvue.com/infinite-eleven

The weak morning light, grey and thin, did little to dispel the gloom clinging to their small kitchen. Jake sat hunched over a mug of coffee he hadn’t touched, the silence between them thick enough to choke on. He’d barely slept, the images from the loft – Barry’s hands on Lily, the shocking moment of penetration, his own shameful release watching it – playing on a relentless loop in his mind. He felt sick, hollowed out, yet a stubborn, unwelcome warmth still pulsed low in his groin. He picked at a loose thread on the placemat, avoiding her gaze.

Lily moved with a quiet feline grace, pouring herself orange juice. She wore one of Jake’s oversized white button-down shirts, the top few buttons undone, offering a deep V that revealed the smooth outline of her supple breasts. The hem barely grazed the top of her thighs, showing off long, toned legs ending in bare feet, her toenails painted a playful pink. Tiny, silk sleep shorts, the color of champagne, peeked out from beneath the shirttails, clinging to the curve of her ass as she leaned over the counter. A subtle, almost imperceptible bloom was on her skin, a languidness in her movements that felt like a deliberate counterpoint to his own raw-nerved agitation.

“You didn’t sleep much, did you?” Her voice was soft, a gentle probe into the silence.

Jake finally looked up, his eyes bloodshot. His voice came out hoarse. “We need to talk about yesterday, Lil. About ... what happened with Barry.” Even saying the name felt like swallowing glass.

Lily slowly sat opposite him, her expression carefully neutral. She took a small sip of her juice. “Okay, Jake. I figured we would.”

He struggled for a moment, the words catching in his throat. “He ... he entered you, Lily.” The words were out, stark and ugly. “Right there. With all of them watching. With me watching. That wasn’t ... that wasn’t the plan. That wasn’t what we said.” His hand tightened around his mug, his knuckles showing white.

Lily looked down at her juice, her finger tracing the rim of the glass. Her voice was low, carefully tinged with a delicate shame. “I know, Jake. It ... it happened so fast. One minute he was just... arranging me for the shot ... and the next...” She trailed off, letting the unspoken fill the space between them. She took another slow sip, her throat working.

Then, she looked up, her eyes meeting his. A flicker of something raw, almost vulnerable, passed through her gaze. “I was ... surprised. Shocked, even. But Jake...” Her voice dropped, becoming more intimate, breathy, pulling him into her confidence despite himself.

“The feeling...” She paused, her lashes fluttering for a second. “When he actually ... when he was inside me...” A delicate shiver ran through her, visible on the bare skin of her shoulders. “I’ve never felt anything like it. So... invasive. So ... full.”

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes wide, holding his. The scent of her, clean soap and something uniquely Lily, drifted across the small table. “He’s ... he’s big, Jake. So much bigger than I expected. So thick. And the way he just... pushed in.” Her gaze flickered down to her lap, then back to his face. “It wasn’t gentle. It was ... a shock. I felt him stretching me open, filling me completely. Every inch.” Her voice was a low murmur, her gaze flicking up to his, then down again, as if the memory itself was too much.

Her hand, as if with a mind of its own, drifted to her lower stomach, resting there for a fleeting moment. “I felt so... full. Like I was being split in two, but ... in a way that ... God, Jake, it made my whole body just ... clench.” She bit her lower lip, her eyes shining with unshed tears – or something else.

She looked away then, as if suddenly overwhelmed by what she’d admitted. “It sounds awful, saying it out loud. And it was awful, what he did, going against what we said. But ... that specific physical sensation ... for that moment ... it was just ... so intense.” She whispered the last part, her gaze fixed on the table. “Almost ... good, in a terrifying, forbidden kind of way.”

Jake swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Lily’s words, each one a carefully chosen drop of poison, were working on him. Disgust, anger, a searing jealousy – they were all there, churning inside him. But beneath it all, her description... “full,” “stretched,” “claimed,” “invasive,” “thick” ... Each syllable landed like a spark on dry tinder. He remembered her face at the loft, the way her body had arched, her cries. His cock gave an unwelcome, insistent throb beneath the table. He ran a hand through his hair, looking away from her, his own expression a jumble of conflict. “Lily...” he started, his voice thick, then stopped, unsure what to say, what he even felt beyond the sickening, powerful pull of arousal.

Jake cleared his throat, the sound decisive in the quiet kitchen. He pushed his coffee mug away, the cold liquid forgotten. He needed to reassert control, to draw an undeniable line. “Okay. Okay, look.” He met her eyes directly, his gaze steady, trying to convey absolute seriousness. “That ... that specific thing. The ... actual sex. Him inside you.” He saw a flicker in her eyes, quickly suppressed. “That cannot happen again. Ever.” His voice was firm now, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “That is a hard, absolute line, Lily. We have to be completely clear on that. That’s too far, and it stops now.”

Lily looked up at him, her expression shifting to one of solemn understanding. The earlier, almost breathless confession about how “full” she’d felt seemed to recede entirely, replaced by a composed, serious demeanor. She nodded, her dark hair, still slightly tousled from sleep, falling across one bare shoulder. The white shirt gaped a little as she moved, offering another fleeting glimpse of the soft swell of her breast, but her focus was entirely on his words. “Yes, Jake. Absolutely. You’re right.” Her voice was quiet but clear, echoing his resolve. “No penetration. That was a serious line crossed. A mistake. It got out of hand, and it won’t be repeated.”

She didn’t reach for his hand this time. Instead, she sat upright, her own hands resting in her lap. Her eyes, wide and seemingly earnest, held his. “It won’t happen again,” she stated, her tone unequivocal. “I understand. Completely.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. The “agreement” settled in the air, feeling more solid this time, a clear boundary drawn. He needed this, this reassurance that some semblance of control remained, that some acts were truly off-limits.

He watched her, searching her face. Her expression was one of quiet acceptance. The earlier, more charged atmosphere seemed to have dissipated slightly, replaced by a more somber understanding.

She agrees, he thought, a measure of tension easing from his shoulders. She understands this one is non-negotiable. The memory of her words about how “good” it felt still lingered, a disturbing counterpoint, but her current resolve seemed genuine.

Lily met his gaze without flinching. She picked up her glass of orange juice, her lips parting slightly as she took a slow sip. The simple act was still inherently sensual, but her overall demeanor was one of clear acquiescence to the new, firm rule. He needs this to be a definite line, she thought. And for now, it will be. He needs to believe some things are still sacred, still under his control.

Jake gave a curt, decisive nod. “Good.” He finally grabbed his mug and took a long gulp of the cold, bitter coffee. The taste was sharp on his tongue.

The rule was set. “No penetration.” It felt, in that moment, like a firm boundary, a definitive end to that particular escalation. The air in the kitchen, while still carrying the undercurrent of the previous night’s transgressions, now also held the weight of this newly asserted, seemingly unbreakable pact.

A few days had passed since the tense breakfast and the establishment of the “no penetration” rule. An uneasy calm had settled over their apartment. Jake was quieter, more watchful, his eyes often lingering on Lily with an intensity that made her skin prickle. Lily, in turn, played the part of the compliant wife, though a subtle, restless energy hummed beneath her demure surface. She found herself replaying moments from the loft, not with shame, but with a detached curiosity about her own reactions.

She was curled on the sofa, laptop balanced on her thighs, idly scrolling through dance forums. Her loose tank top had slipped off one shoulder, exposing the smooth, pale skin there. Her denim shorts were frayed and short, showcasing the long, elegant line of her legs. A notification pinged – a direct message. Her stomach tightened when she saw Barry’s name. A familiar wave, part apprehension, part a forbidden, tingling excitement, washed over her. She clicked it open.

Barry’s message began with a torrent of praise for her “performance” at the loft. He called her a “revelation,” a “true artist of the flesh,” his words dripping with a sycophancy that was almost comical, yet undeniably flattering. Then, the tone shifted, becoming more intimate, more conspiratorial.

“Lily,” it read, “I can’t stop thinking about our times together. The loft was incredible, yes, but it’s more than just that. It’s you. Remember the coffee shop? How your fingers, unbidden, so deft as you unzipped my trousers right there, with Jake watching every move? The way you giggled, that wicked, flirty little look in your eyes ... you wanted to please me then, didn’t you? You enjoyed the thrill of it.”

Lily’s breath caught. He remembered. Of course, he remembered. She could almost feel the rough denim of his jeans under her fingertips again, the heat radiating from him.

The message continued, “And at the loft, Lily, you were the one who suggested pleasing all of us with your mouth. Your idea. You have this fire in you, this undeniable need to push boundaries, to perform, to give yourself over to the moment.”

Her cheeks warmed. He was laying it all out, her own complicity, her own escalating desires.

“And then ... when I was finally inside you.” Lily’s fingers tightened on the edge of her laptop. “I saw your face, Lily. I felt your whole body arch and clench around me. That wasn’t just shock, was it? There was something else there, something powerful, something you craved. You come alive in those moments, don’t you? When you’re truly surrendering to it, letting go.”

He was dissecting her, piece by piece, and she couldn’t deny the truth in his words.

“You get a unique kind of pleasure from our ... encounters,” he wrote, the ellipsis heavy with implication. “Something raw, something primal. Am I wrong, Lily? Something I don’t think Jake, for all his watching, for all his carefully constructed scenarios, can truly give you. Not in the same direct, intense way. He watches. I touch.”

The final lines were the proposition, stripped of any pretense of art or audience. “I was thinking ... what if we met? Just us. My place. A chance for us to connect on a different level, to explore that ... intensity ... that undeniable spark between us. No pressure, just ... us.”

Lily reread the message, her heart hammering against her ribs. His words were like a mirror, reflecting a part of herself she was only just beginning to acknowledge. He sees it. He actually sees it. The idea of being alone with Barry, without Jake as a buffer, without the framework of a “scene,” or one of Jake’s schemes was both terrifying and intensely, dangerously exciting. His specific recollections – the coffee shop handjob, her bold suggestion at the loft, her undeniable, shattering reaction to his penetration – they all hit home with unnerving accuracy. He wasn’t just a crude older man lusting after her; he was observant, dangerously perceptive, and he was offering her a path to explore the very desires he’d helped awaken. The phrase “unique kind of pleasure” echoed in her mind, a siren song. He understood a part of her, a dark, hungry part, that Jake, in his role as her loving husband and voyeuristic director, perhaps couldn’t, or wouldn’t, fully engage with. Barry was offering to be a direct participant, a guide, even, into her own unfolding darkness. And a part of her, a significant, growing part, wanted to take his hand.

Lily stared at Barry’s message, her mind racing. His words had stripped away any pretense, leaving only the raw, unsettling truth of her own desires and his understanding of them. The invitation to his apartment, “just us,” hung in the digital air, both a threat and a promise. A shiver, not entirely unpleasant, traced its way down her spine. The curve of her breasts rose and fell with her quickened breath, the thin fabric of her tank top clinging slightly.

She knew Jake would never agree. Not to a “date.” Not after the loft, not with their new, supposedly ironclad rule. She chewed on her lower lip, her brow furrowed in thought. How could she make this happen? The desire to explore this... connection ... with Barry, to see where it might lead without Jake’s immediate direction, was suddenly a powerful, insistent pull.

She typed out a reply to Barry, her fingers moving quickly, a new sense of illicit excitement bubbling up.

“Barry,” she wrote, “what you said ... a lot of it is true. I can’t deny the intensity when we’re ... together. But Jake ... he’d lose his mind if I just told him I was going on a ‘date’ with you at your apartment. Especially now, after the loft and our new ‘no penetration’ rule. He’s already watching me like a hawk.”

She hit send, then waited, her leg jiggling impatiently. The response came almost immediately.

“I understand, Lily,” Barry typed back. “Jake’s protective, and rightly so. You’re a treasure. But what if it wasn’t a ‘date,’ not in the way he’d imagine?” Lily leaned closer to the screen, her interest piqued. The light from the laptop illuminated her face, casting soft shadows beneath her high cheekbones and highlighting the fullness of her lips.

“What if,” Barry continued, “you told him I’m a complete mess? Utterly clueless with women, lonely, desperate. And that I practically begged you, his beautiful, worldly wife, for some ... dating advice?” Lily let out a small, surprised laugh. It was audacious.

“You could say I need help – how to talk to women, what to wear, how not to come across so ... well, like me sometimes,” he wrote, a hint of self-deprecating humor that was surprisingly effective. “You could tell Jake I want you to come over to my apartment, see my ‘pathetic setup,’ as you could call it, and give me some pointers. He might to find that amusing, don’t you think? To imagine me, humbled, taking instructions from you.”