What Should I Do? (Blue or Grey)

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I walked out of the shower, wiping my hair with the luxurious towel. The rest of my body was left naked, I loved the feeling of free air against my slightly damp after-shower skin, so liberating. My husband Joel was still lying on the bed, the bright light of the sun streaming in from the windows behind him making the contours and the planes of his manly body frankly delicious to see. I contemplated another quickie, but decided against it - there would not be enough time for another shower, and I like them showers to be long and deep. But God, how the light fell on his pecs!

Joel was in his undies, the blue-grey pair I bought him for his birthday. I chuckled remembering how we had a small fight over the color of the underwear, whether it was really blue or grey. We decided it was a combination of the two. He saw me chuckling and smiled, and my heart - and my cock - throbbed with desire. We had married for five years yet every day was still like this, me falling in love over this wonderful hunk of a man who had chosen me to be his partner in life.

He looked down again intently at his crotch, his eyes glued to the bulge of his cock, as if willing it to be even bigger than it already was. As if in response, aware that it was put on show, the bulge stiffened and nudged against the fabric of the briefs. The large mushroom head of his cock made a delectable imprint on the pouch of the underwear. Joel kept staring at the bulge, as if … confused.

“Baby, what are you doing?” I asked him, wrapping the towel around my hair.

“Babe, is… is my cock too big, you think?”

I almost laughed out loud. “What made you think that?”

“Well at the gym Ryan always gawk at me and made fun of my cock.” Ah, Ryan and his immature catcalling. I tolerated the blond otter because he made my Joel laugh with his maudlin gym jokes, but sometimes the guy overstepped his boundary, like this matter with my husband’s cock.

“Baby.” I sat down beside him, held his hand and kissed the ring on his finger, the ring that made him mine and I his. “There’s no such thing as too big a cock. If your man’s satisfied with it that’s all that matters.” I kissed his temple. “And I’m so, so satisfied with what God had given you. And that’s enough.” He smiled at that. Honestly, despite being two years older than me it was sometimes like the reverse was true, that I was the older more mature one in this marriage. “Now I have to go in. Sandra’s having an emergency, it’s all hands on deck.”

“Even on a Saturday?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Okay. I’ll go to the gym or something, then I’ll cook dinner for you.”

A few hours later, at the office I had a lull in the activity that my thought turned to my husband and Ryan. I imagined them sweating it off at the gym, pulling, pushing, lifting. I imagined them in the showers, my husband’s large cock flopping around. I imagined Ryan catching an eyeful every time my husband turned in the shower stall. I thought about Ryan. He came a few times to our home, to pick up my husband on the way to the gym or to go biking the trails on the city parks, and a few other times for parties and dinners and such. He was a compact dude, the kind that you know would be okay walking alone in a dark alley late at night, with a blond buzzcut, and a slightly crooked nose that looked attractive on his face. In fact he was a very attractive man, a himbo perhaps, but all man.

At this time my thoughts turned dark. I imagined him showing off his ass in the shower to entice my faithful husband. I did not know how but I know his ass must have a tattoo on it, probably a tramp stamp of some sort, maybe fancy numerals indicating his nightly score. I imagined his hand caressing the tramp stamp, with my husband’s eyes following and watching every move of his fingers. Why else he had been pestering my husband about the size of his cock?

I decided to leave early - Sandra pouted, but my appointed tasks were done to satisfaction - and drove home. Along the drive my cock was iron hard in my slacks. I almost ran over a red light because I felt lightheaded - probably too much blood going to my cock instead of my brain. When I arrived near our street I saw a strange fire-engine red convertible parked on our designated spot. I had to drive further down to find a parking spot and walk a bit back to the house.

The house was quiet, eerily quiet. I checked my watch, I was two hours early. Instinct kicked in: I tiptoed to the kitchen, where I find two half-slugged bottles of beers dripping on the counters, still cold to touch. There was a dull thud, which became increasingly incessant. My heart dropped to my stomach. I climbed up the stairs on my socks, leaving my shoes somewhere. On the landing were scattered articles of clothing, a black t-shirt, basketball shorts, a long pair of track pants - Joel’s - and a stray white sock. Finally, in front of the door of our bedroom was lying Joel’s blue-grey briefs, the one that I had bought for him in faith and love.

I hadn’t realized it but I was panting. It was like watching a car crash happen before your eyes, except you could not draw your eyes away, not ever. I watched as my husband’s cock, the cock that had given me so much pleasure and happiness over the years, buried itself - bare - inside a foreign asshole. I watched my husband’s hips smother the ass cheeks, which turned out to have the Roman numeral for 118. I watched as my husband took the hands of the man he was fucking and held them above his head, his blond head. I watched as my husband leant down and gave a ferocious kiss on the nape of guy, making him let out a deep groan that reverberated deep in me.

I closed my eyes, only slightly aware of the tears, and listened to their fucking, slap slap, the wet slush of lube against skin, the delicious passage of cock against anus. I listened to their whispered conversation.

“I know your cock gonna feel so good inside me.”

“It does feel good, so fucking warm, so fucking tight,” Joel murmured.

“Fuck, your cock’s so big, so fucking huge, your big bull balls pressing against my taint.”

“Your ass feels like silk around my cock.”

“Tell me, who’s tighter, me or your husband?”

“Fuck, fuck. You’re so fucking tighter, man, FUCK!”

“Fuck, I’m cumming again, FUCKING FUCK!”

“I’m cumming too, cumming up your tight ass, FUCKIN’ A!”

So much filth, yet so quiet. I looked down and watched the cum drip from the crotch of my pants down to the floor. On the bed my husband and Ryan - of course it had been Ryan - were catching their breath, my husband lying on top. They looked like long-time lovers. They had not seen me at the door. I swallowed and turned away, and out of the house, and into my car. What should I do? After all said and done, the cheating and the fucking, I still love the man. What should I do?