I was woken by the metallic click of the deadbolt ramming home. The sound of Zoe’s high heels unsteadily clopping and scuffing across the tiles soon followed, before she stepped out of her shoes and kicked them under the side table. Dumping her purse and switching off the hall light I had left on for her, she padded straight into our bedroom. As much as I knew she wanted to, Zoe knew enough not to check on the kids when she’d been drinking.

The taxi’s headlights swept across the window as it backed out of the drive, briefly illuminating the bedroom in a dull, beige glow. I lifted my head to see Zoe making her way to the ensuite, her long, chocolate hair spilling about her shoulders. Without breaking stride, she lifted her finger to her mouth and whispered, “Shhh. Go back to sleep.” She slipped into the bathroom, turning on the light as she gently shut the door.

Checking the clock on the bedside, I saw that it was two-thirty. “Hmm,” I smiled to myself with a raised eyebrow. Not a bad effort for a twenty-eight year old. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cracked midnight with my own mates.

I got up and shuffled into the ensuite. Zoe startled as I entered, pressing herself to the vanity. Placing my hands on her bare shoulders, I caressed the dark blue straps of her dress with my thumbs. “How was your night?” I murmured into the back of her head, planting a kiss into her soft, coconut-scented mane.

“Promise you won’t be angry with me?” she softly mumbled to the sink.

My heart suddenly quickening, I searched her reflection, until eventually, her big, brown eyes met mine. I could tell her focus was blurred, but the rising blush in her cheeks told me she was lucid. Her mind was clear. She knew the gravity of what she was about to confess.

The warmth of jealous anticipation spread to my own face. This wasn’t the first time Zoe had sheepishly sought such a promise. It usually followed a night out with her girlfriends. Some dancing, a cute guy, a little flirting, and then a drunken pub pash in a dark corner somewhere. It had only happened a few times in the nine years we’d been together, and all pretty harmless in the grand scheme of things.

Still, the idea of my wife kissing another man drove me absolutely wild.

Brushing her hair behind her ear and keeping eye contact, I kissed her neck. “What did you do?”

Zoe shuddered slightly, then dipped her gaze. She didn’t answer.

“Mmm, sounds good,” I chuckled, pressing my naked erection against her ass. “Did we find the affections of an attractive, young man?”

Zoe’s breath hitched, but still no response.

“A kiss perhaps?” I teasingly nuzzled, letting my hands fall to the soft curve of her hips.

“Do you promise?” she whispered.

My eyes shot to the mirror. Zoe’s brown eyes were crystal clear. Her mouth hung slightly open, smudged with dark lipstick. She was breathing heavily.

“I promise,” I croaked, my heart thundering.

Zoe turned around, leaning back against the vanity. I could smell countless Bacardi Breezers on her breath, watermelon by all accounts. Staring at me seriously, she dropped her eyes between us for a moment, then looked back up expectantly. She swallowed.

I scanned down her body, past the plunging neckline of her dress and over the full breasts it struggled to conceal. I could see she’d spilled something in her lap. The shimmering, blue fabric was stained in large spots running from her navel to the hem halfway down her thighs.

I rubbed one of the marks between my fingers, feeling a crusty, almost greasy sensation. “What is that?” The realisation already striking me as the words escaped my mouth.

“There was this guy,” she breathed, her trembling words barely audible above the pulse hammering in my ears. “We were sort of kissing a little bit. And, um…” she had to catch her breath. “He was touching me. He, uh, got his hand up under my dress…”

Pressing my cheek to Zoe’s forehead, I lifted the hem of her dress, bunching it in my fingers.

As I did, the stains came together in one, big, globular smear, like the fold-in cover of a Mad Magazine. “Like this?” I rasped, now able to see the crotch of her blue, satin panties.

“Uh-huh,” she panted. “Then he kind of, um…he fingered me.”

I burrowed my fingers in under her waistband and combed them through her short curls. Farther down, I found the warmth of her steamy slit. She was soaking. Zoe’s delicious folds sucked at my fingers until I had two of them buried to the webbing inside her.

“Oh, yeah,” she moaned. “Just like that.” She tilted her head up and our lips met, our tongues urgently following. Zoe wrapped her fingers around my shaft and began stroking. She rubbed her palm over the head, lubricating my cock with my pre-cum.

“Is that what you did?” I gasped into her mouth. “You wanked him off while he finger fucked you?”

“Please don’t be angry,” she moaned. Zoe’s cunt clamped tight around my fingers with her release as I rolled her clit with my thumb.

“Did he try to get his cock inside you?” I was a runaway train, overcome with lust.

“Yeah,” she swallowed. “But it was just a little bit. It was only a few seconds. I don’t know, maybe thirty. I made him pull out and I jacked him off with my hand. That’s when he came all over my dress.”

The thought of another man having his cock inside my wife…

The blood seared through my veins, flushing my entire body with an intense heat. I was out of control. I all but picked Zoe up, and charging out of the bathroom, I threw her onto her back on our bed. Roughly opening her legs, I pulled her panties to the side. Her pussy glistened beautifully in the light spilling from the open ensuite door.

I was an animal. I speared my cock into Zoe’s hungry cunt, slamming my full length into her in one, desperate thrust. We groaned in unison. The soaking hot grip of her pussy was almost too much for me to withstand. Barely composed, I pounded into her like a man possessed.

She arched her back and reached under herself to unzip her dress as I fucked her. But when she got it to the small of her back, I got one hand around her and held her wrists in place. With her arms held behind her, I wrenched her shoulder straps down her arms, freeing her breasts. I caught a jiggling globe with my free hand, pinching her tight nipple as I squeezed the soft flesh.

“That’s it!” she cried. “Oh, yeah. Fuck me through my panties!”

I loved taking her like this, controlling her. Claiming her.

Then releasing her gorgeous breast, I firmly gripped the back of Zoe’s neck. “You let him fuck you?” I growled into her ear as my cock slopped wildly in and out of her.

“Only a few minutes,” she grunted as she bounced rhythmically beneath me. “You’re not angry, are you? You promised.”

I wasn’t angry, even at the increasing time she had admitted to fucking him. Rather, I was incredibly turned on. But I couldn’t answer, overcome with my own colossal orgasm. I erupted in blissful gush after gush of burning cum as I nailed Zoe to the mattress with my cock. I pumped every last drop of semen deep inside her until I couldn’t move anymore.

I almost passed out, drifting in a hazy, dreamlike abyss.

One by one, my senses slowly returned. My eyes fell upon my beautiful wife, ravished on the bed, her eyes peacefully closed and her face flushed. Strands of her chocolate hair swayed in the soft scent of watermelon. The feeling of my cock, still hard inside her, tingled warmly as I continued to grind my pubic bone into hers.

The frenzy over, I made love to Zoe, gently rocking in and out of her. Strangely, inexplicably, I felt so incredibly close to her. We kissed tenderly, smiling and staring into each other’s eyes.

“You promise you’re not angry with me?” Zoe grinned sweetly.

“I promise,” I chuckled, kissing her passionately, then sucking her tongue warmly into my mouth.

“Do you still love me?” she smiled.

“More than ever.” The tears welled in my eyes.

***

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