Hell Hath No Fury
by INtrinSicliValud
Copyright© 2026 by INtrinSicliValud
Erotica Sex Story: Soul-twisting betrayal! Mind-shattering arousal! A loyal, middle-aged wife and dedicated employee, Bethany Waters has had her fun. When her husband, Darren, invites their boss, Colton Burroughs, tall, good-looking, and exuding raw power, home for a surprise dinner, then lets slip intimate secrets, her anger builds. What twisted plan is Darren enacting? How is she drawn to Mr. Burroughs' lap? What life-changing choices will be offered?
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Reluctant Heterosexual Wife Watching Anal Sex Oral Sex .
“This is crazy, dear. You know how he’s been,” Bethany mumbled while placing the last of the cutlery on the dining table.
“Aww, hon—”
She spun and jabbed a spoon toward her husband. “Don’t you dare ‘aw hon’ me, Darren Waters!”
“Come on. It’s one dinner. Just ... It’ll be fine. Everything is perfect,” he replied, adding a smile that bounced off the icy steel lining her chest. “You look gorgeous.”
“That’s not gonna help ... at all.” She gulped. “Why’d you have me wear this?”
Slinky and loose, the dress had been purchased for a vacation at one of those resorts, to tease other guys and keep Darren horny. In truth, she’d been pretty damn aroused as well.
The swathe of crimson hid little. The narrowest halters, meeting at her nape and plunging to her belly button. No back meant serious adjustments to hide her butt crack and the tiny panties he’d also selected. A very, very short, flirty hemline plus slits at both hips ensured even the tops of both dark thigh-highs were displayed if she did anything but stand motionless.
While dressing, with him making suggestions about her makeup and hair, a million questions had tumbled from her lips. To each, he offered only either a muttered non-response or one of those trademark annoying-as-fuck shrugs.
When she straightened in the dining room, again easing a wayward tit back beneath its satin stripe, exasperation bubbled. She flung another furrowed-brow glare at him.
In a dark suit, the enigma was too-damned handsome, and he flashed a grin. Pretty, green eyes scanned her as she turned for the kitchen to check on the roast. Although that’d been the thousandth time, the crazy man’s slow inspection sent warmth through her.
“Look, it’s no big deal, babe. Just a formality,” he said. “My promotion’s in the bag.”
“No big deal? A formality?” she scoffed. “He kissed me at the holiday party.”
“You kissed him back.”
“I was drunk!”
“So was he.” He shrugged.
Brow furrowed, she mimicked the motion, but quicker. “Goddamnit, Darren! You can be so fucking annoying sometimes.”
In her skull, the thunder grew as she bent to survey the cooking meat. The aroma was mouth-watering and should’ve made her grin. When she straightened, again adjusting the slender halters, her husband was at the foyer mirror, surveying himself. She rolled lips waxy with crimson. It was time—past time—to add one more detail. Her last chance to end whatever madness the preening man was contemplating.
“He was feeling me up. His hands were under my dress.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Before the shock of his response could do more than make her gasp, chimes sounded. He flashed her a wider smile and made for the front door. As it opened, any further opportunity to collect herself vaporized.
He filled the door frame. Thick, wavy, dark hair atop a square-jawed visage, pierced by glinting charcoal eyes that never stopped moving. Mr. Colton Burroughs was the poster child for high-speed, distinguished, sharp-minded masculinity.
The official company biography claimed he was approaching sixty, but his appearance defied the number. He looked twenty years younger. Not only handsome, but a fit build, enshrined within a bespoke silk suit of dark pinstripes, lay somewhere between that of a football player and bodybuilder cum model.
Yep, the type of guy who’d march into any room and heads turned his way, forgetting whatever else existed. Exuded raw power. In business, competitors would quake. At social gatherings, women quivered, as did their partners.
No, she didn’t work for him, but he was one of the five C-ring demigods occupying the entire top floor. So, word traveled far and wide. He enjoyed fast women, faster cars, sleek motorcycles, and humongous yachts. Been through at least three wives, and rumors hinted at a dozen playthings panting, mewling, and pleading across the globe. That kind of energy, the rawest magnetism, was stepping into their home.
Those dark yet vivid eyes found her. A shaky heel scratched on the kitchen tile as she eased backward, intending to hide behind the tall counter. However, that world-famous, bazillion-dollar smile locked onto her, bathing her in the brilliance of the brightest spotlight, and the stiletto again scratched, coming to a halt.
“There she is! Lovelier than ever.”
He also possessed a deep, gravelly voice that demanded attention from any crowd. In the small home, it boomed, lashing her focus to him like a thick rope. Her eyes widened. For a man of his size, he could move.
Rapid, broad, thumping steps took him past her husband, and she found herself quivering in his shadow. Even as she jolted, and heat raced across every inch of skin, a riot of color rose into view, and the vibrant scent of fresh flowers invaded flaring nostrils. So did a cologne. That unmistakable aroma of well-worn leather, elegant spices she’d never afford, and the darkest woods in a deep valley full of hidden secrets. The same fragrance he’d worn the night...
“Here you go, Bethany. Beauty for beauty.” His smile widened. He had the most amazing dimples; of course he did. “Might want to get ‘em into some fresh water.”
Under the gaze of those soul-measuring eyes, her motions were robotic, taking the bouquet from him. Though brief, the glide of large, rough fingers along her hand made the room wobble. Heart hammering, she gulped, then turned away. Unlike those of other men, his quiet wolf whistle didn’t draw her glare. Instead, a lot more heat flared across far too much bare skin.
“Wow! You were right, Darren. This dress looks amazing.”
That drew her glare, and it shot over her shoulder at her husband. He gave her that damn shrug and sent her a quick smile before gesturing to his boss. The two men disappeared, heading for the living room.
As she stood at the sink, shaky hands trimmed and got the flowers into one of the larger etched glass vases. The blooms were lovely. Another inhale of their fragrance should’ve gained her a grin. Instead, a stony expression ignored the heat on both cheeks. So many images, ideas, and concerns swirled within her mind.
What was Darren up to? He’d known about her being groped? What else had he discovered? A formality? Mr. Enigma had gotten the promotion. Nothing made sense, but before she could contemplate further, the approach of laughter, both his and the deeper guffaws of the boss, tugged her focus from the vibrant blossoms.
Over the rims of crystal tumblers, two sets of eyes were scanning her. Both were gauging her. Hell, she also was running through options. The sane one ... her glance flicked to the stairs. A quick dash, then atop them, a rush past both empty kids’ rooms, until locked in the bedroom. She’d stay there until Burroughs left. Simple.
The insane choice? It floated to the front of the line as the pair wandered toward the dining room. They were deep in a discussion about the latest corporate developments. Operational Plans Division stuff, her husband’s arena.
So, perhaps not that crazy a decision. She’d just overreacted. A guy like Burroughs only had to snap his fingers to gain a bevy of gorgeous twenty-year-olds. Plus, the office held more than enough young, wide-eyed, aggressive “me-too” wannabes who’d leap into his bed to earn their own promotions.
“Makes no sense, stupid,” she whispered while shoving her hands into oven mitts.
After a quiet snort, she lifted the deep pan from the oven. The sudden billowing heat made her shiver. One more weird reaction.
“I’m a mother. Thirty-eight, going on fifty some days,” she murmured, placing the food on a waiting pad.
A little thicker around the waist, and no matter how much she hit the basement gym, time kept right on tick-tocking. Along her shoulders bounced golden blonde curls, hiding the gray only she saw, but it was there, maybe. Fine, but it soon will arrive. Wrinkles, not too many. Given no possibility of wearing a bra, a bit of sag under the slender halters. Despite what Darren said, and the not-so-subtle scans of their coworkers tried to reinforce, long gone was the frame of a college track athlete.
Lost in her thoughts, she jumped at the arrival of a shadow. Although she looked up to find Darren’s grin, ready to let fly with a slew of questions, the slow glide of his palm over her rear sent sizzles along every nerve. Another strange reaction.
“You do look beautiful, darling.”
His words, so simple, only heightened the confusion. Anger continued to bubble, but his gentle squeeze of the tiny dress made her quiver. Before she could muster a reply, he’d turned away.
Together, they moved food to the dining table. His boss stood near the head, her husband’s usual spot. Heart thumping a little quicker, she flung a glance at Darren, but he said nothing.
As they set down dishes, she was very careful not to bend far. Even with the slowest of motions, the threat of tits swinging loose kept her tense until she sank into a chair.
“Wow! Smells and looks delicious, Bethany.”
Within the snug space, the rumble of that deep voice made her flinch. Though the compliment drew a smile across her face, she swallowed a gasp when those shiny eyes lowered. Nope, boobs were still covered, but the dress did little to slow the sway of an unrestrained chest.
Although braced for his commentary, the towering man said nothing. Instead, when she reached for a bottle of Pinot, his hands moved quicker. He filled her glass, then his own, and finally the one before Darren, standing beside the chair across from her. Eyes not so much piercing as twinkling, their guest hoisted his wine.
“To the lovely cook. Thank you, for, um, having me.”
Mr. Burroughs never hesitated, and that pause made her chest tighten like a steel barrel. Yet, she still took a sip. With some effort, she tugged free of his gaze to find Darren. No smile, but no scowl either, he nodded while taking his seat.
As dinner progressed, they ate, drank and talked. Well, she listened while the two men continued their earlier conversation. Notch by notch, the tension slipped from her, aided by a second, then a third glass of the excellent vintage. No, with a full meal, she wasn’t that tipsy. But the world wobbled when she rose to clear the plates, and a hand stayed on the table to keep her steady.
“Please, let me help.”
At the rumbling voice, she found Burroughs’ twinkles and nodded. As they carried dishes from the room, Darren stayed seated, but green jewels tracked her departure over the rim of his glass.
The whole way to the kitchen, she wanted to glare at his boss but didn’t. No point anymore. Wait, there’d been a point? A giggle escaped under her breath. Nah, there wasn’t.
Once before the sink, she began rinsing the dishes but froze when solid warmth pressed against her spine. As the muscled bulk mashed her rear, pressing her forward, she started to turn, but large, strong hands landed on her waist.
“Still fantasize about me, right?”
That boulder-filled whisper, sending heat into her ear, drew a gasp from shaking lips. Her palms slapped hard onto the faux-granite countertop. Oh, she wanted so much to shake her head, to mutter, “No! Nuh-uh. Never.” Instead, a flurry of emotions swept through her, starting with guilt-ridden betrayal.
Married twenty years, they’d learned to roleplay, a method to keep the bedroom lively. Darren enjoyed her imitating famous actresses. Her preference was for men she knew. Not right away, that would’ve been weird, but a few months after the holiday party, she’d murmured around his cock how Mr. Burroughs seemed to be quite the stud. Well, off to the races, he’d joined her line-up, plus invaded her...
“Dreaming about me, too.”
Not a question. Damn, could he read minds? No, of course not. Her gaze flicked across the kitchen, but the blabbermouth was nowhere to be seen.
The large hands stayed motionless, not so much gripping as giving her the gentlest of presses. She didn’t want to whimper; that wouldn’t be right, but the sound escaped anyway. The fresh crimson polish on her nails glittered as they scratched the solid surface.
Mind wobbling, she struggled to find any response, but as quick as he’d appeared, the solidity, then heat drew away, followed by both hands. They left pulsing warmth on her hips, and her spine tingled. His footsteps receded, leaving her gulping air.
“What the hell?” she muttered while peeling her palms from the countertop.
For the longest time, she stood, shaking, as laughter and voices from the men shifted to the living room. At last, she sighed and continued to rinse the flatware before loading the dishwasher.
Once done, she again glanced at the stairs. The simple option, not to mention sane and safe. Her heels clicked as she moved. Nope, not to the staircase. No, a quick dodge, and she’d emptied the rest of the Pinot into her glass. While sipping, she walked toward the quiet voices.
“There she is!”
Mr. Burroughs’ voice sent ripples through her ribs as he tracked her approach. She glanced at Darren. His only reaction was to arch an eyebrow. What did he really want? This formality was over. His boss had been fed. Why was he still here? Seated like a king, he occupied Darren’s brown leather armchair, while her hubby sat on the matching sofa.
It wasn’t her intention to halt in the middle of the room. No, her mind wanted to keep moving toward the smaller chair, next to the little round table, piled with romance novels. The heart thumping ever quicker wished to settle on the cushion Darren was patting with his hand.
Yet, that simple motion acted as lighter fluid. Heat flared up both cheeks. How dare he? Her husband wanted her to sit beside him, in that dress, to do what? He had the fucking promotion.
Nothing made sense.
She took a healthy swig of wine, then, while swallowing, scanned him. No reaction at all. Not even that irritating shrug.
No, one damn thing made a whole lot of sense.
Anger surged from the murk to wrap clawed hands around her soul. He’d betrayed her, shared their secrets, and now wanted to parade his wife before the boss. Seriously? Another hearty swallow of the vintage, and the room began to blur. A red haze arrived to flood the edges of her vision.
“Come here, Bethany.”
It wasn’t loud, nor a command, but Mr. Burroughs added that smile, and her stilettos sank into the carpet. No, she wouldn’t do that. That’d be true insanity. More plushness settled under sharp heels. Somehow, Darren’s silence deepened as she passed the sofa.
Drawn as if wobbly-kneed metal to the most powerful magnet in the universe, she headed for the armchair. The towering, muscled man was tapping the top of his thigh with one of the massive palms that had heated her waist. That lingering patch of warmth, and its brother on the other hip, flared.
As she settled across his lap, the glass trembled before her lips. No, all of her was quivering, and when she went to cross her legs and he blocked the motion, another of those whimpers escaped. Once the splayed fingers of his other hand landed on the bare skin of her belly between narrow strips of crimson, the world became only him.
He was silk-clad granite, and so incredibly warm. Should she snuggle into firm warmth? No, that might be too far. Instead, gaze locked on her husband, she managed a shaky sip, then another.
With the universe irrelevant, she had time to explore this new reality. Whatever was happening couldn’t endure. A woman like her meant nothing to a man like Burroughs ... less than nothing. Probably had a handful of nubile bed warmers waiting at the mansion in the foothills, or whichever home awaited his return. So, he was just playing some sort of amusing game.
Despite the swirling of a surreal wave of calmness as she took a healthier drink, her mind wobbled. He hadn’t said a word, nor had her husband. Even as her eyebrows arched, a thunk announced the landing of Mr. Burroughs’ tumbler on a small table, and his other hand settled atop a stockinged thigh. When the one on her belly started to glide upward, those quivers returned.
The serenity vaporized as both eased into the dress.
With flares of heat racing deeper as long fingers slid, memories flew into her skull. Those digits had explored the same patches of tingling skin. She’d been tight to him on the dance floor. With Christmas music playing amid twinkling lights, most everyone else had already left. Darren had gone to the men’s room. Maybe he’d only used that bathroom visit as an excuse?
Heart thumping, she peeked at him. Her husband’s eyes had widened, but he remained on the sofa, drinking his wine. Nope, no shrug either.
At the party, Burroughs had tugged her behind a pillar. The kiss had been gentle, then primal. His fingers had delved until she was squirming into him and moaning into their swirling tongues. It couldn’t last; too many people were around, but as she’d staggered from the shadows, so much heat had been flaring that sweat trickled down her frame. She had fucked Darren in the back seat before they’d had the chance to leave the hotel parking lot.
In the living room, once more she squirmed. With one large hand under a halter, cupping her breast, the nipple, already steely-hard and throbbing, became his plaything. Adding to the flames, knife-edged pleasure spiked across nerves that’d been on edge for hours.
As long fingers teased, twisting, tugging, and pressing, moans tore from her. The sounds grew sharper as the other hand slipped further under the skirt to find lace. No, not the bands atop the thigh-highs; the way the shiny material fell, those were bared to the world. A gentle nudge of strong digits had her easing her legs wider until they gained access to...
“Oh, somebody’s awful wet, Darren.”
The husky, chest-rumbling comment had two effects. First, her core sizzled at the heated breath against her neck. Second, she sought a snarky response, but no words would come. Especially once his fingers pressed a little deeper, confirming the declaration. Yes, she was soaked. That revelation sent a shockwave through her, but with his gentle rubs pulling more bliss along twanging nerves, she was far too busy moaning as her gaze found the ceiling.
The sparkly stucco spiraled and blurred as his hands played. Both halters were pushed aside, allowing magical fingers to roam the anger-tipped boobs she kept shoving into his palm. With the steady rubbing of his other digits between trembling thighs, the flames within her sparkled ever higher.
Only when the first exquisite surge of bliss started to tumble did she lower her head. Several quick blinks later, she found Darren amid the pulsating haze. What was he doing? The betrayer. The love of her life. Father of their two cute as-a-button little boys.
Glass no longer at his lips, but empty on the table beside him, he was fixed on the boss’s languid mauling. Trousers tented. Shaky fingers caressing a straining zipper.
More of that lighter fluid dumped onto the fires licking at her core. This is what he wanted? Or what else had he offered? Oh, no! That would not happen! Not just because he wanted ... She was her own damn woman!
With a growl, she spun. So beautiful, yet dangerous, Mr. Burroughs’ eyes widened as her lips sought his. It was a quick press, but only because he pulled away. Although quiet, she stayed tight to him, and his laughter made her shake.
“Wow. Darren was right,” he whispered, warming her ear. “Got a healthy dose of sluttiness, too, hmm?”
Heat flared. A lump the size of the moon blocked her throat. Deny it, Bethany! Who wasn’t slutty in bed with her husband, and on the odd vacation with enough booze and weed in her bloodstream? Yet, the words indicated one more damn betrayal.
She shot a quick glare at Darren. He didn’t notice; his goggle-eyed attention was on the hands moving under the dress.
When soft lips found her throat, their slow drag and the swirl of a powerful tongue, plus the ceaseless motions of both sets of strong digits, drove any further thoughts from her mind. She surrendered to the rising bliss once more. The wineglass landed on the table, and shiny red nails rose to rake the expensive silk of pinstriped sleeves.
Between her shaking legs, the caresses quickened, and the hand on a jiggling, upthrust chest sped. The shiniest organ among the towering pillars of the largest cathedral - she was being played. With Darren watching from somewhere in the pews and her moans being modulated by deft fingers, the rapture raced closer, ever closer until...
Boom! The universe snapped. A blaze of sparkles filled ... everything. The most delicious euphoric surge flung her first cry toward heaven. So many shudders, so fast.
A quick motion, a swish as the halters parted behind her neck, plus chilly air all announced they’d fallen away, giving him full access. He took advantage, leaning to suck hard on a swaying breast. Much more of that euphoria pulsed along tingling nerves. With his eyes boring into her soul, soft lips, the lashes of a thick tongue, and powerful suction yanked so many more cries free to serenade the spiraling room.
At last, he relented, and she slumped with a shaky sigh against a solid shoulder. On skin alive with flames, sweat prickled, chased by goosebumps. Each rapid inhale brought more of that scent, promising endless delights, dangerous explorations, and pure manliness. Though his hands had halted, her body refused to stop vibrating.
Under her ear, his heartbeat was the thunder of a massive summer storm, rumbling across plains, driving a sweltering heat into every corner of the universe. A large hand cradled her head, while the other left the squelching panties to clasp a shaky thigh.
“Doing alright, Bethany?”
Nope, not Darren’s voice. He was silent somewhere beyond twitching eyelashes sealed to hide from the fast-spiraling room. Instead, the gravel-filled one had driven heat across her face.
“Y-yes, um, sir,” she mumbled.
“Oh, I like that.”
“W-what?”
“A gorgeous woman like you calling me ‘sir.’”
He chuckled, yet even as the sound rattled her chest, still bared to the chilly air, she nodded. Her shaky fingers rose to caress a solid jaw as those of her other roamed the sleeve of the arm gripping her leg.
“I’m okay... sir.”
Again he chortled, and his grip pressed her tighter to him. That motion sent spears of far-hotter flame through her core.
Why?
Trapped within that exquisite silk, stiffness. Its thumping alongside her hip was steady and strong.
Once detected, the powerful throbbing couldn’t be ignored. When her eyelids fluttered open, she jolted; twinkling eyes and that bazillion-dollar smile were waiting. Was he riding the same wavelength? Lurking inside her skull? God, that Pinot had been great. So had his hands.
“Does it hurt, sir?” she murmured, pressing against the trapped thumperer.
“Yes, Bethany, it does,” he replied, shifting his gaze from her.
Her view followed, revealing Darren. Wide-eyed, chin shaking and trousers pulsing, her husband wore the look of a man whose fantasy was both coming to life and exceeding expectations. Once again, reality slapped her hard.
His fantasy? That annoying, betraying, self-centered bastard! He’d organized the whole thing. For a brief second, she scanned Mr. Burroughs. Should ask him about the formality? Whether dinner was even necessary for any damn promotion? His smile hadn’t slackened; he was no fool. Nope, he was waiting for her to find the path forward.
“Those are some mighty beautiful tits.”
Okay, he wasn’t that used to waiting.
“Thank, um, you ... sir.”
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