I loved my husband. Oh how I loved him, let me count the ways. He was my first lover, and if I might have a say in that he would be my last. He was so handsome to me, a tall Korean-American drink, with thick pecs and broad shoulders that carried his height making him look even taller than he was, abs of steel and a lovely, perfectly adequate cock that could spring to a respectable seven inches that had always satisfied me and had brought me to countless orgasms throughout the years we were together. But my favorite part of his would have to be his balls, medium-sized orbs of loveliness that had always managed to churn out surprisingly bountiful amount of semen that always come out in splashing geysers in nights (and mornings, if I had my way) of ecstasy.
We met in college, he was a premed going into dentistry, while I was studying for my journalism degree. I know, it was so cliché I laughed just remembering it. We met at a bar party, a mixer really, and being the two gays he and I clicked, in that way you would eerily know this was the one man you would spend the rest of your life with. Yes, even at that first meeting, when I fell deep into his warm brown eyes that seemed to flicker with amusement and life in the lights of the bar. He asked me out the next time, and we made love the first time then, and went steady thereafter. He proposed the year he was accepted into his school of choice, and we live together the whole year he was in graduate school, me supporting our lives with my writing for the local newspaper. Then he graduated, and we married in a simple ceremony - my parents had passed on, and his were too frail to make the journey to our city - attended by my younger brother and our friends.
We were happy. In short, we were, deeply gloriously happy. He made partner of a practice with his friends downtown, I became an editor-at-large, we wanted for nothing. Except maybe children of our own, he had been restless about hearing the tiny pitter-patter of feet in our hallways, but I reminded him we were both working, and I would rather at least one of the parents be present for the children. He reluctantly agreed, and the matter was settled.
Then my younger brother went into troubled times. He began failing his course - he was studying pharmacy - and skipped classes. When I asked him he was standoffish, and cited that he needed more money to pay for college, so he had been juggling part-time jobs and his classes. It was going to be temporary he said, just until he could pay for his tuition and a roof over his head. I thought of the matter and offered my home for his accommodation. His school was a city away, and he drove to school; a ready, furnished home with meals would have been a huge burden off his shoulders. “I’ll pay for this year’s tuition, but you will have to stay with us the whole year at least,” I remarked, signing the cheque. He agreed gratefully, and sent in his 24-hour notice at one of his part-time jobs.
I hadn’t realized it then but that generosity was to be my downfall.
I had hoped him staying at our apartment would be beneficial for him, having two successful guys as examples to live up to, and close to the amenities. We gave him the reins of the spare room, but more often than not I found him sleeping on the couch in the living room, tired from his part-time job. He was dressed as minimal as the weather would allow, like wearing only the tiniest of boxers or bikini briefs, or even just towels with clearly nothing under, as he went around our kitchen rummaging in our fridge. He was also a very active night owl, coming in as late as two in the morning and going for his classes the day after like no problem. Maybe it was the years between us - we were ten years apart - but even looking at him made me feel tired.
There were other issues. With him in the house I was a tad embarrassed to be … as amorous to my husband as before. Gone were the kisses and the pecks on the mouth, they turned to small, even polite pecks on the cheek. My husband was a highly functioning male with huge sexual desires, so he was at first downturned to be err, friend-zoned. Then my brother would come sauntering out of his room in his damned bikini briefs and my husband would just give me a look before sighing and going for his job, before I berate my brother once again for dressing inappropriately as he munched on his breakfast. I swore it was like a Lucille Ball sitcom came to live.
But the way things progressed later was no sitcom. My husband noticed one of his boxers missing, the black one with the grey pouch that make his bulge look even more massive. I shrugged that time, saying it probably missed laundry day. But when I went in my brother’s room to collect the laundry, I found the boxers in question under a pile of pillows, crusted with massive glops of old semen. I held up the garment: there was a fresh spot of cum on the pouch, still fresh, warm and sticky to the touch. I imagined my brother beating off his cock, spraying his cum over my husband’s underwear, probably moaning his name as he came. I shuddered.
One balmy night I opened my eyes to find my husband was gone from the bed. I didn’t know why but I tiptoed and peeked out of the open door into the hallway. I found him with his pants halfway down his thighs, his hands clutching at his thick erection, his eyes glued to my brother’s ass that must had been exposed in his sleep because he was hot. My husband quietly groaned as he reached his climax, the perpetual geyser he had always produced that I could almost hear the semen hitting the floor. I turned and fell back to the bed. My husband followed soon after, the smell of recent cum masked by the smell of hand sanitizer. As he went back to sleep I cried silently lying there beside him, picturing his sperm, my husband’s babies, being smothered by the chemical and the alcohol.
Suddenly out of the blue my husband announced that he was going for a conference halfway across the country. As partner he had to attend these conferences, but it was the first time it was held far away. Then my brother announced he was staying near campus for a practical exam for the entirety of next week. My two men, leaving me alone in the house to simmer, to think, to imagine. I watched forlornly as my husband held up the black boxers - “There, you found it!” - and packed them into his suitcase. He noticed I was not myself. “There, there honey, I’d be home before you know it.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The first night alone was horrible, to say the least. My husband had taken an Uber to the airport, and shortly afterwards my brother took off for his exams, but I could not shake a sense of dread, of foreboding. I imagined them both meeting at some clandestine hotel, laughing at my expense, drinking champagne and eating caviar before inevitably retreating to the bedroom for sex.
How would their first time look like? If I know my husband it would be hot, passionate, sweaty, a fast and furious coupling accompanied with grunts and squeals and moaning. I imagined my husband taking his and my brother’s cocks in his large hand, masturbating them together, his favorite move because it always showcased his thick alpha cock, always thicker than his lover. I imagined my husband licking his way down my brother’s smooth undulating back, his thick tongue running a path along my brother’s spine, until it reached the crux of his hips, the curve of his ass, the rim of his hole. I imagined the hole to be smooth, hairless, innocent, virginal, vibrating in time to my husband’s initially tentative but increasingly ponderous licks, red, red, so much red blossoming into my beloved husband’s mouth.
As these thoughts ran inside my head my hand came unbidden to caress at my cock. As I felt my fingers running down the skin I imagined my brother’s hand coming up to reach for my husband’s fingers, ensnaring them, as the thick blunt head of my husband’s penis punched into his wet receptive hole, lubed from my husband’s mouth. I imagined him letting out a breathless laugh, as if a huge pressure was finally released, at the sensation of skin sliding on skin, cock against anus. I imagined my husband smiling magnanimously at him, above him, before letting out a groan at the contraction of my brother’s asshole gripping onto his cock. Then a blackness took me as I came.
I came, and I came hard. I came so fucking much to these thoughts, to the thought that my husband, my beloved husband, might have fucked my brother on his so-called work trip. The thought scared me, petrified me… made me so fucking hard. I was clearly fucked in the head.
When they came back the next week, they were riding my brother’s car together. My husband told me - after a surreptitious kiss - that he called my brother to pick him up at the airport, saved him an Uber trip. I just nodded, not thinking that they had been together all this time, kissing, sucking, fucking. I never thought he would call my brother. I never thought of them being talkative with each other, but apparently they were.
I watched them when they were not looking. They talked a lot with each other, about their day, my brother’s classes, my husband’s patients, the convenience store they both frequent, mundane things. I noticed my brother was smiling more and looked more happy, more jovial - the look of someone filled with cum. Sometimes they would be washing dishes together, me out of the way because I was the one cooking the meal earlier, and I would watch them play with the suds and the bubbles like little children playing house.
One day my brother called me to ask for my husband’s work number. When I asked why he replied he was referring a friend who was looking for good dental work. I gave him the number, then my imagination ran wild. I imagined him coming to my husband’s workplace, in that huge overcoat he got from dad, greeting my husband’s nurses before sitting on the chair, that ridiculous chair you always see in dentist’ office, and opening his coat to reveal he was naked underneath. My husband would fluster at first, before smiling in that delicious way that made his eyes twinkle, and proceeded to throw a quiet furtive fuck, and smile again later watching his cum ran down my brother’s thigh as he exited his office, triumphant, like a common slut.
I held my head in my hands. The cold metal of my ring pressed against my hair, and for once it did not seem as comforting as it usually was. Tears ran down my face. I had to do something, or my head would explode.
I told my husband I had an assignment off-city, that I would be gone for two days. I arranged my calls and my work, and made it seem I was actually gone for the two days. The afternoon of the second day I was supposed to be gone I climbed the stairs to my apartment, heart in my mouth. I swallowed. I could hear dull thudding against the wall as I put my key into the door.
There were two pairs of shoes at the threshold: my husband’s somber leather pair and my brother’s sneakers.
The thudding grew louder as I walk-shuffled on my stockinged feet. I kept my eyes trained on the trail of clothes running down the hallway, my husband’s tie and belt, my brother’s crumpled baby blue towel, my husband’s black boxer, the one that had semen all over it in my brother’s room. I heard them before I could see them, but that was probably because I had my eyes downward, on the clothes.
“Ahh fuck, so fucking warm, so tight.”
“Yeah, fuck, you’re so fucking big, so thick inside me daddy.” Good. My husband had always wanted to be a daddy, he had said to me. Now he was one.
“Fuck, where have you been all my life?”
“I’m never going away, baby, now cum.”
“Fuck I’m cumming, I’m cumming, CUMMING UP YOUR TIGHT ASS!!”
Finally I lifted my eyes up to look at my bedroom, our bedroom. It reeked of so much semen. They were on my bed, the bed that I had bought with my first salary. My brother was on top of my husband, ass riding on my husband’s huge thighs. I never noticed how curvy, how pale-white my brother’s ass was. My husband was still in the throes of his orgasm. I could see the staff of his cock - bare - swallowed by my brother’s asshole, throbbing, rivulets of semen running down its sides. His balls, the balls that I had kissed and loved, vibrating, treacherously pushing more cum into my brother’s wet hole.
My brother’s back ran with sweat, smooth and oil-shiny, undulating as he rode my husband, while his arms supported his torso on my husband’s pecs. I watched mesmerized as his hole rim fluttered around my husband’s hard cock, that must felt delicious. He reached behind him, flicked a finger around his ass rim, catching a glop of my husband’s semen. His face seemed to turn to where the picture of my wedding was, me and my husband be-suited and happy on our wedding day, there on the dresser beside the bed, and his tongue came out and gave a lick to his finger.
“Mmm so delicious.”
“I know right. Your brother always thought so too.”
“Speak of the devil - mmm, your cock’s so big - when he’s coming back?”
“We’re safe till - ah, fuck your ass - till tomorrow.”
“Good.” My brother fell on top of my husband and gave him a deep, cummy kiss. “Now fuck me again.”
“Thought you’d never ask.” My husband turned them upside down, prompting a giggle from my brother. His cock, which had stayed hard all that while, began its thrusts anew.
I turned from the bedroom door and exited the apartment, quiet as a mouse. Now that I had confirmation, I felt… I felt at peace. I would come back as scheduled, my husband would be there, the tall handsome man I married, and my brother, my beloved sibling, the two men that I loved most, the two men who were fucking behind my back. Only now I did not have to imagine it. Our lives would go on and on, and I would live on as my only brother’s cuckold.
At least I was not screwed up in the head anymore.