A Bad Influence
Copyright© 2025 by BoredAndHorny34
Chapter 2
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2 - A "no-fun" wife who hates sports. A tailgate with another man. A lot of alcohol. Mark's day is already a humiliation, but it's about to get worse. When his drunk, horny wife stumbles into the men's room, she's not alone for long. Mark is frozen, forced to watch as she's taken by a stranger. Then another. This is the story of his wife's total, drunken depravity and his place watching it all.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Consensual Drunk/Drugged Cheating Cuckold Slut Wife Wife Watching Wimp Husband Humiliation Rough Cream Pie Exhibitionism Masturbation Oral Sex Voyeurism Public Sex AI Generated
It had been three weeks since the tailgate. Three weeks of lying awake at night, the same scene playing on a sickening, endless loop in my head. Sarah bent over in that filthy handicap stall. The sound of her screaming, “Don’t pull out!” as the first stranger filled her. The brutal, punishing thrusts of the second. The sight of my own pathetic, shameful puddle on the grimy tile ... I never said a word. How could I? “Hey, honey, remember when I watched you get tag-teamed by two strangers after you explicitly told me not to drink?” I just swallowed it, just as I swallowed every other humiliation. I’d wiped the cum off her back, dragged her home, and accepted her lecture the next day.
My nights were a torment of arousal and self-loathing. My days were just ... normal. Sarah had snapped right back into her routine: controlling, dismissive, and completely oblivious to the trauma she’d inflicted. Our sex life, already lukewarm, had gone ice cold. We had sex exactly once since that night: my birthday, a week ago. It was a perfunctory, passionless, “birthday blowjob” that felt more like a chore than a celebration. I finished in under a minute, and she had immediately gone to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
I was replaying that pathetic memory while stirring a pot of mediocre spaghetti—Sarah had complained about my cooking again—when she breezed in, tossing her keys on the counter with a bright, energized smile he hadn’t seen in weeks.
“Great news!” she announced. I just looked up at her and grunted, bracing myself.
“Chad’s coming to town! Remember Chad, from the tailgate? He has a big sales convention downtown all next week, and I told him it was ridiculous for him to get a hotel.
“My blood went cold. The wooden spoon in my hand stopped moving. “What?”
“I offered him our guest room,” she said, as if announcing she’d bought new curtains. “It’s perfect! It never gets used, and I won’t hear of such a good friend staying in some stuffy hotel when we have a perfectly good—”
“Sarah, no,” I said cutting her off, my voice quiet but shaking. “I’m not ... I don’t want him staying here.”
Sarah’s smile vanished. Her face hardened into the familiar mask of icy disapproval. “What did you say?”
“I just ... I don’t think it’s a good idea. After ... after the tailgate. You were so drunk...”
“Are you still on that?” she snapped, her voice rising. “I told you, you were the one who was irresponsible. I was just having fun with an old friend. God, Mark, can you not be weird for five minutes? He’s just a friend.”
“It’s my house too!” I protested, but my voice was already weak, the fight draining out of me.
“And I’m not going to have my friends think my husband is some paranoid, controlling freak. It’s done, Mark. He’s coming on Friday. Now, for god’s sake, don’t overcook the pasta.”
And just like that, it was over. I was powerless.
Friday came with a sense of suffocating dread. Chad arrived at 6 PM, all swagger and expensive cologne, carrying a leather duffel bag. He clapped me on the shoulder with a pitying look.
“Mark! Good to see you, man. Thanks for letting me crash. Your wife’s a lifesaver.”
“No problem,” I muttered.
Sarah appeared at the top of the stairs, and my stomach tightened. She was wearing a short, silk black dress I hadn’t seen in years. Her hair was down, makeup perfect. She looked, in a word, fuckable.
“Chaaaaad!” she squealed, running down the stairs and launching herself into his arms for another one of those full-body hugs. He gave Sarah a hug that was, once again, far too long and intimate, his hands roaming her back.
“There she is,” Chad laughed, holding her tight. “I brought you something.” He handed her a bottle of expensive-looking red wine.
“Oh, Chad, you shouldn’t have!” Sarah gushed, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll open it! We can have a glass before dinner.”
“YOU DON’T DRINK!” I screamed in my head as she excitedly took the bottle of wine.
I served the dinner I’d cooked, and I sat in silence as they dominated the conversation, laughing about old times, inside jokes, and people I didn’t know.
“Oh, god, do you remember Mr. Harrison’s chemistry class?” Sarah shrieked.
“How could I forget?” Chad laughed. “You set your textbook on fire!”
“I was trying to impress you!”
I saw an opening, a chance to be human.
“I, uh, I was pretty bad at chemistry, too,” I offered, forcing a chuckle.
They both stopped. They didn’t even look at each other.
They just ... stared at me. Their laughter cut off instantly, leaving a dead, awkward silence in the room. Sarah’s face hardened, her expression a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. I just ... withered. My smile froze and died.
“I’ll ... I’ll get more wine,” I muttered, grabbing a bottle and retreating to the kitchen.
When I came back, they were already talking again, as if I had never spoken. I didn’t try again. I just cleared the plates.
After dinner, they moved to the living room. I followed them and went to sit next to my wife on the sofa, but Chad was already there, patting the cushion next to him.
“C’mon, Sarah, sit by me. We’ve got catching up to do.” he said with a confident smile.
Sarah giggled and curled up next to him, tucking her feet under her.
Defeated, I retreated to the large, lonely armchair across from them. My own personal island.
I sat there for what felt like hours, a ghost in my own living room. I wasn’t just sulking; I was ... remembering. The woman on the couch, the one giggling with her head thrown back, her eyes sparkling, her whole body alive and vibrant ... that was the Sarah I’d met in college. That was the girl I had fallen in love with, the one who could light up a room, the one who was bold and funny and adventurous.
I watched her lean into Chad, her hand covering his on her thigh, and a cold, agonizing realization washed over him. That Sarah wasn’t gone. She was right there. She just wasn’t for me anymore.
The woman I lived with—the one who sighed when I entered a room, who criticized my cooking, who spoke to me with a voice dripping in perpetual disappointment—that wasn’t her. That was just her response to me.
The humiliation was deeper than just jealousy. It was the devastating, soul-crushing certainty that I am the problem. I was the one who turned that vibrant, laughing girl into a cold, critical shrew. And here was Chad, a man with easy confidence and a-cocky smile, and in his presence, the real Sarah had returned.
“I was just thinking,” Chad said, his voice suddenly softer, more intimate. He was looking at Sarah, and only at her. “I was thinking about that bonfire after graduation. The beach trip.”
Sarah’s laughter died, replaced by a soft, breathless smile.
“I remember,” she whispered. “Just us, that blanket ... the sound of the ocean.” Chad said as his hand tightened on hers. “I was so close to kissing you, Sarah. God, I was an idiot. Why didn’t I just kiss you?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. This wasn’t just flirting. This was ... history.
Sarah’s eyes were locked on Chad’s. She looked almost sad.
“I know,” she breathed, so quietly Mark could barely hear her. “I wanted you to.”
“Yeah?” Chad’s voice was a low rumble. “Well ... maybe we can fix old mistakes.”
Sarah didn’t pull her hand away. She just stared at him, a flush creeping up her neck.
My world tilted. I wasn’t just the boring husband; I was the consolation prize. I was the safe, pathetic choice she’d made after the real man, this man, had failed to make a move. And now, the real man was back to claim what he’d missed.
The intimate silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. Finally, as if suddenly remembering a piece of furniture was in the room, Chad looked over at me, his expression all polite indifference.
“So, Mark, what’s your line of work again?” he asked, the question a clear, dismissive afterthought.
My mouth was dry. I just sat there, the realization congealing into a cold, hard knot of self-loathing. I wasn’t just losing my wife; I was the reason she was lost.
I must have been staring, my misery a palpable force in the room, because Sarah looked up, her soft, nostalgic expression vanishing the second her eyes met mine. The light went out, replaced by the familiar, icy scowl. It was like a mask slamming down.
“Mark. Can I see you upstairs? Now?” Her tone was sharp, the one she used when he’d forgotten to take out the trash.
I followed her upstairs, my heart pounding with a mix of dread and humiliation. She pulled me into our bedroom, and as soon as our bedroom door was closed, Sarah turned on me.
“Could you be more embarrassing?” she hissed, “What the hell is your problem?”
“What?” I stammered, “My problem? Sarah, he’s ... his hands are all over you! You’re ... you’re talking about kissing him!”
“He’s just a friend, Mark! My god, you’re so pathetic sometimes,” she snapped. “We’re just reminiscing. God, you’re ruining it! You’re just sitting there, staring at us, sulking like a child. You’re making it awkward. He’s our guest!”
My mouth opened. The words were right there, on the tip of my tongue. He’s not my guest! You’re drunk again! Are you going to end up in a bathroom stall? Are you going to fuck him, too?
I looked at her, at her furious, beautiful face, and the words died. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t confront her. I was a coward.
I saw the look in her eyes change. The anger was still there, but it was joined by something else ... anticipation. She was waiting. I could see it. She was challenging me, daring me to finally, just once, stand up for myself. To fight for her. To say something.
And I couldn’t.
I deflated, the anger vanishing, leaving only my familiar, pathetic shame.
“I ... I’m just tired,” I mumbled, looking at the floor. “I think I’m just going to go to bed.”
The challenge in Sarah’s eyes died instantly, replaced by a cold, profound wave of contempt that was so much worse than her anger. She didn’t yell. She just sighed, a sound of pure, final disappointment.
“Fine,” she said, her voice flat. “Just ... go to bed. And don’t snore. I don’t want Chad to think I married a...”
She cut herself off and turned, her back rigid, and walked out of the room. She didn’t slam the door. She just pulled it shut, leaving me alone in the darkness.
I got into bed, the sheets cold against my skin. I told myself to sleep, but it was impossible. My mind was racing. I had failed. I had failed some kind of test, and her contempt was a heavier blow than any slap.
I waited five minutes, my heart feeling like it was going to burst from my chest. Until I couldn’t take it anymore.
Then, moving like a ghost, I crept out of bed, my feet silent on the carpet. I eased the bedroom door open, cringing at the tiny click of the latch. I padded down the hall to the top of the stairs. The landing was dark, but a dim light was still on in the living room. I heard a sound.
A giggle.
Sarah’s. Then I heard Chad’s low, rumbling voice.
“Took you long enough. I was starting to think I’d have to come get you.”
“Shhh,” Sarah whispered, but she was laughing. “Mark’s just upstairs...”
“Who gives a fuck about that loser?” Chad’s voice was clear, contemptuous. “C’mere.”
My hand was shaking. I crept down the hallway, my bare feet silent. I crouched down, peeking through the wooden slats of the banister.
The scene below made my breath catch. The lights were low. They were back on the sofa. Sarah was in Chad’s lap, but with her back to him, nestled against his chest. Her black silk dress was hiked up, bunched around her waist. Her legs were spread, and her head was thrown back against Chad’s shoulder, her neck completely exposed as he kissed and nibbled his way down to her collarbone.
And his hand ... Chad’s large, confident hand was jammed deep inside the front of her tiny thong. I could see his knuckles pressing against the sheer fabric, his fingers moving, pumping, working her.
Sarah was writhing, her hips grinding back into Chad’s crotch, her whole body alive with a squirming, desperate energy. Her moans weren’t quiet whispers; they were low, guttural, and vocal, clearly audible from the top of the stairs.
My own cock instantly swelled, pressing painfully against my pajamas. I was frozen, a hidden spectator in my own home.
“Oh, god, Chad ... yes ... right there...” Sarah panted, her voice thick with lust. “Fuck, you’re so good at that. You always were.”
“Always knew how to get you wet, didn’t I?” Chad murmured against her skin, his voice rough.
He had his hand inside her thong, his fingers plunged deep, pumping in and out of her.
“God, you’re soaking,” he growled. “Dripping wet for me.”
“Mmm, yes ... so wet,” Sarah whimpered.
“But this stupid thing is in the way,” Chad growled. He hooked his thumb in the thin lace strap at her hip and, from my vantage point, I watched him pull the thong to the side, giving him better access. I could see everything. His fingers, already glistening, parting the smooth, hairless folds of her pussy. I watched, paralyzed, as he gently but deliberately slipped one finger, then two, deep inside her.
“Fuck!” Sarah gasped, her body jolting. “I’m ... I’m so tight, Chad, but you’re just ... ahhh...”
“Shh, I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, his fingers starting a slow, confident pump. “You’re tight, but you’re built for this. Built for me.”
She was putty in his hands, her hips already meeting his rhythm, a low, needy whimper building in her throat. He pulled his hand out with a wet, sucking sound. He’d drenched his fingers. He looked at the glistening evidence on his hand and then at the thong, still pulled tight.
“We don’t need this.” He hooked his thumb into the waistband, and I watched him just rip the flimsy fabric at the hip, tearing it from her body. He tossed the scrap of lace onto the floor. “No panties for you, slut,” he whispered. “You don’t get to wear these when I’m here. You’re going to be bare for me.”
“Chad...” Sarah whimpered, her voice thrumming with pleasure as he shoved his hand back down, his fingers sinking deep into her bare, swollen, and glistening pussy.
“Tonight, you’re my slut,” he growled. “You’re not his. You’re mine. And you’re going to take what I give you. Understand?”
“Yes ... oh, god, yes...” she panted, her hips already bucking against his hand.
“Good.” He slipped two fingers inside her, and she let out a sharp, breathless gasp. “So fucking tight and wet ... just as wet as you were at the tailgate, when I had my fingers inside you. Then when you walked back to your loser husband with your shorts unzipped.”
Sarah giggled, a breathless, drunken sound that was pure sin.
“I was so drunk, I didn’t even realize they were unbuttoned! Not until I saw the dumb look on his face. His stupid eyes practically popped out of his head! He knew, and the loser was just too pathetic to say anything! He’s such a coward.”
“I know he is,” Chad chuckled, his fingers digging deeper, ruthlessly, pumping in and out of her. “I almost had you in my truck. Another minute and I would have had you coming all over my hand. You were begging for it.”
“I know ... I was so ready for you ... If only I hadn’t gotten sick...” Sarah whimpered, her voice hoarse as his fingers moved faster.
If only I hadn’t gotten sick. The words hit me like ice. That was it. That was the line. She remembered all of that. She remembered the tailgate, her flirting, my ‘stupid eyes.’ She remembered humiliating me with him. But the bathroom ... the strangers ... that was a different, darker place, a line she’d crossed into a full blackout I was the only one to witness.
“Don’t worry, we’re going to make it happen right now,” Chad purred in her ear, his thumb finding her clit and pressing down, hard. “And we have all night. I’m going to make you cum so hard your pathetic husband hears it upstairs.”
“Oh, god ... don’t stop ... don’t stop ... I’m so close ... fuck...” Sarah whimpered, her hips bucking, grinding against his knuckles.
Chad’s fingers moved faster, a brutal, punishing rhythm, two fingers buried to the hilt while his thumb worked her clit into a, swollen nub. Sarah’s body tensed. Her moans became a series of high-pitched, desperate whimpers. I watched, my own breath caught in my throat, as my wife’s body began to convulse. Her back arched violently, her head thrown back, a choked scream tearing from her throat as she came, and came hard, just from Chad’s fingers. Her whole body shook, her hips bucking against his hand in a desperate, uncontrolled rhythm.
I watched, paralyzed by a sickening mix of shame and white-hot arousal. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d made a sound like that for me. I could barely get her wet, and here she was, screaming and convulsing from a simple touch from another man.
Sarah collapsed against Chad’s chest, panting, her body still trembling. “Oh, god ... Chad ... that was...”
“Just the appetizer,” Chad grunted, pulling his slick, wet fingers out of her. He held them up for her to see, her juices glistening on his hand. “I’m not stopping.”