My Friend The Bitch (part 3)

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I watched nonchalantly as the glass of wine before me mildly shook in the wake of Sam and Remy’s boisterous coupling. They had been at it since dawn, and I would loathe to explain things as they were to poor little innocent Aidan, who otherwise fortunately was at his grandparents’ for summer holidays. 
It was almost funny in one aspect. Me arranging for Aidan’s accommodations with his grandpa and grandma, Sam’s parents, who lived across the country, while in the other direction Remy was arranging his stay with Sam and me, in the name of caretaker’s reprieve. My father, dear old stroke-stricken father, was still in the dark as of his husband’s shenanigans with his own son-in-law, and was staying with a live-in nurse to take care of his needs.
As of his husband’s err, needs, they were being fulfilled aplenty by my erstwhile husband, his boyfriend. We were in this strange relationship now, me conceding my husband to my stepfather’s wiles. In a way I was the prodigal stepson, although one finding the meaning of the term might had a hard time justifying our actions.
But what could I do? What could Sam had done in the face of the tornado that was Remy? I thought long, long and hard, and came up with absolutely nothing: there was nothing he could have done to prevent himself falling into Remy’s seduction, much like other men in my life had been. There was my father, and Gerry my first love. And last but not least, there was Sam, whom I thought was my truest.
So the question was posed, served on a silver platter like Jochanaan’s head to naughty Salome: what would a cuckold do? Indeed, what would a cuckold do in this instance, for example, when his beloved husband’s cock was deep inside his bull-cake twitching in orgasmic agony, spraying forth the cum that belonged rightfully to him? Because that was exactly what was happening, as Sam groaned mightily, signaling an umpteenth release into Remy’s succulent ass.
Why, one turned to alcohol, of course. And a certain handsome new neighbor who had whispered over your white picket fence that he was majorly in want of a pussy after six months of twin pregnancy.

“Wo, wo, hah! Fuck, Sam! What a fucking load!”
“Fuck. Let me catch my breath, fuh.”
“Hahahaha mmmm tastes so good too. This cock never disappoints.”
“Yeah right.”
“Hey where’s Jeremy anyway, where’s my beloved stepson? Jeremy?”
“Probably still drinking, he’s been drinking more since you came.”
“And then I came and came and came.”
“Fuck, you’re insatiable.”
“Fuck yeah, when it’s you I’m always insatiable. Hey, who’s that?”
“That guy on the ledge talking to Jeremy, God he was carrying that glass of wine too, and it’s not even 10 am, what an embarrassment.”
“Umm, who’s that guy again? Peter something or other, they just moved in last month. He’s with a wife, Mary, with a baby on the way. Twins, so I’ve heard. Which got me thinking, dude’s balls must be backed up with twins on the way, no girl’s gonna let him near her pussy.”
“So you say.”
“Hey, I used to be straight, remember? Before Jeremy, and before you.”
“Whatchu thinking?”
“Nothing. Just, for a married man, a straight married man with babies on the way, he seems to be really handsy with my stepson over there.”
“Do you think there’s something going on between them?”
“Usually when you ask those kinds of questions, something already happened.”
“... Fuck.”

I looked at the photo for the hundredth time since I received it, and felt another giggle rising in me again. God knew I’d received many dirty photos over the years, from Gerry and then from Sam, but none had the sheer panache and bravado that Peter’s had. Imagine catching your husband sending a naked picture over to the gay neighbor next door in your own en-suite bathroom, fluffing himself into sheer erect glory for the sake of a furtive satisfaction.
And what glory! His cock must had been at least eight, eight-and-a-half inches, thick like an infant’s arm and criss-crossed with live throbbing veins. Uncut, always my favorite, much more fun to tug and pull at than cut cocks. Added to those riches were the balls, fat jiggly hairy masculine balls promising giant loads of seminal goodness for every surreptitious fuck.  
He was smiling in the picture, perhaps proud of his giant erection, or of his cut chiseled musculature, but it revealed the deep dimples on either sides of his mouth, shadowed over by a week’s worth of stubble. I wondered if his wife complained about his beard. I myself had already imagined what it would feel like to have a hairy face against my own - Sam had always insisted on a smooth face - and had felt tingles rose in my skin, imagining the feel of the hairs and the stubble and the textures and the silk.
The rest of the picture was not so bad either. There was his cut chiseled musculature that I had mentioned, his great hunky deltoids with a giant vein running down the front of his biceps, the result of many a day - and probably nights - releasing his pent-up aggression at the gym. I imagined him releasing his aggression on my asshole and felt a shudder ran in me.
The water heater screamed its siren, calling me to arms. I left my handphone and  prepared the coffee for myself at the counter facing back - two packets of three-in-one, with extra milk. When I turned I almost had a heart attack to see Remy perched on the far side of the table, nursing a cup of orange juice. He had moved so quietly, like a ghost, that one would had difficulty of believing the wreckage of happy homes he left at his wake. 
“Good morning.”
“Good morning. Slept well?”
“Well as a mater of fact I did, much thanks to your husband’s hospitality.”
“Well, thank you.” I was going to go to the front room before I remembered my phone was still open. Fuck. I fetched the phone and made a scurry away from the kitchen. I crossed my heart and hoped Remy didn’t see Peter’s photo. But deep in my heart I knew the damage was done.

The dalliance that I had hoped would pass between me and Peter did not come to be. It was almost strange the way we had flirted heavily one day, even sending me a straight-up naked photo of him in full erection no less, and the correct, bashful way he approached me the next. It was as if he had committed a wrong, that he knew I would be angry at him for something he had done, but in this case I was totally in the dark.
Well, maybe not totally. One day I had to run for errands, stocking up the pantry and ordering more wine - the bottles seemed to err, mysteriously disappear more often when Sam and Remy were having one of their marathon sex. At the market I saw Mary waddling with her live-in sister, who was taking care of the woman and her household in general. We chit-chatted, the wife unsuspecting that I had seen her husband in full glory, and she unduly remarked that she saw Sam and Remy coming across the fence to her house - apparently to help Peter with some DIY carpentry.
Now, I knew Sam, and I knew Remy even better. The only carpentry that would be going on with Remy in tow would be hammering a wood of the erect kind into his mouth. I took the information in stride and hurried through my shopping and driving back to the house. I looked at Peter’s house first, apparently the ladies were still at the market. No hammering noise of any kind. I rushed into my kitchen and had the shock of my life: Sam, Remy and Peter were having a sick, debauched, deranged English tea-party. With porcelain cups!
“Hi babe, we were just talking with our neighbor here, you know he builds his own cupboard? We should have such a man around,” Sam said, guffawing in that affable way of his.
“You seem… breathless,” Remy remarked, daintily lifting a cup and taking a sip. “Come sit and have a tea.” He looked at me intently. He looked like a cat that caught the cream. Of the seminal kind, probably.
“That’s okay, I’ll - I’ll catch up with you guys later.” I shuffled back to my car, downloading the purchases from my shopping. Only then I realized that Peter had not said a thing to me.

<JEREMY> I had a disquiet feeling in me, as if something bad was happening but I could not for the death of me pinpoint the source of this feeling. It was exactly like the time before Sam went to Los Angeles and had his tryst with Remy: this, this deep dark melancholy that I simply could not shake off. 
I tried taking my mind off it by doing the thing that had always made me happy: cooking and baking. At the end of the session I had baked lassagne, spaghetti carbonara with the dessert being my famous Sarawakian layered cake, which took the most time to make so there was only a small quantity of my honey-glazed almond-infused multicolored layered cake. Truly a spread for the gods, if I might say so.
At the end of my toil in the kitchen I took off my apron and sat down at the counter. In the old days before Remy Sam would have been the most diligent of sous-chefs, helping with prepping the ingredients and measuring for the bake. I found myself releasing pent-up tears, tears for the past, for a time without all this business with Remy. But it was only a moment’s weakness, after all I was my mother’s son. I opened up the liquor cabinet and took out the Dom Perignon, after deciding that somewhere around the world it would have been the perfect time for such a drink.
 <PETER> I let out another massive groan as I felt a tremor pass along the pole of my cock and burp out a massive load of semen. My hands were clutching at Remy’s hips, while he was having his back to me facing Sam - there might be bruises later, but as of now nobody cared. They both were kissing deeply, unbothered by my coming earlier. In fact, it might had been better for Sam because my cum could perform as lube for his cock.
Yes, we were double-penetrating Remy. I never would have thought I would do something like this in my lifetime, but there I was, lying on the guest room bed, the panelling that I was supposed to be working on lying on the floor somewhere, while I was having the time of my life fucking the softest, slickest, tightest hole I ever fucked with my new buddy from next door. There I was, skin to skin, cock to cock with Sam, both embedded as deep as we may inside his stepfather-in-law, who was a total cock-whore in bed.
It all started with that blowjob that Remy gave me with Sam watching intently in my kitchen the other day. It was a little weird, but as I came in Remy’s mouth Sam gave me a high-five. Then Jeremy came in, but we already cleaned up and were having tea. It was a totally missed opportunity with Jeremy, which was kinda sad as I even sent a naughty photo to his phone, but the sensation of Remy’s silky mouth as he slithered his tongue along my erection was compensation enough.
My thoughts came back to the present as I felt Sam thrusting urgently towards his orgasm, with Remy egging him on. I felt jealous of their absolute chemistry, so I pulled Remy’s face one way and kissed him on the lips. “Fuck, so fucking hot,” Sam murmured as he released his shot of semen, which flowed around both our cocks, inundating Remy’s warm hole with further warmth and slickness. It felt divine on my cock.
“Fuck, I want both of your cocks in me forever,” Remy whispered. His mouth passed from mine to Sam’s. At first I had thought their relationship was strange: who fucked his own stepfather anyway? But then witnessing their sex I understood: in that debauchery there was a sick twisted love between them for their cuckold, poor reckless Jeremy. Then all thought left me as I felt Remy flutter his ass rim around our cocks. “Round two, boys.”
Sam smiled. “Round two, are you up for it Pete?”
“Fuck, might as well get my cock wet.” I smiled roguishly, and grasped Remy’s cock firmly, tugging on the turgid organ, earning myself a moan from Remy’s sinful mouth.
“Fuck, Pete, fuck me, Pete, Sam.”
“I thought we already are.”