Chapter 2: What I Heard

I kept replaying the night while I drove. The first time the headboard had woken me, followed by the wet sound of skin slapping on skin. I had heard her voice then and listened as it climbed higher than I had ever heard it. I had listened to her beg him not to stop right before she had screamed out his name. Sarah had cum so hard I had felt her orgasm as a vibration in the wall.

I had counted four separate times the noise pulled me out of sleep. Each time, she sounded increasingly wrecked, more desperate, and less like herself. Each time I had stroked myself listening to her moans of pleasure until, matching the rhythm of the headboard, I came with her.

In the twelve years that we have been married, I could probably count the number of times she had come from my cock on my two hands. Last night I had listened as Ryan had pulled orgasm after orgasm out of her until she was a sobbing ruined mess. I had listened to each and every one, and I had stroked myself in time with the sounds she made. When I heard her voice crack, when I knew from her pleas that she was close, I had sped up so I could finish with her.

A husband is supposed to feel angry rage if he hears that, or a foul sickness deep in their stomach, or both. A husband is supposed to feel betrayed, to feel the urge to break the door down and end it. I had definitely felt those things. They were there, blindingly painful and deep under my ribs, but they weren’t the loudest thing in my head. The loudest thing had been how turned on I was. How my cock had stayed hard the entire time. How I had timed my own orgasm to hers like I was somehow part of it and participating, even though it was another man who was inside her.