THEY MADE HIM WATCH (1)
My husband owes seventy thousand dollars to men who don’t take IOUs. His solution is to offer me. All four of them. One night. Every hole.
And he has to sit there and watch.
I should say no. But Marcus stopped touching me in June, started coming home smelling like another woman in July, and has been gambling away our savings ever since.
I’ve been a ghost in my own marriage for the better part of a year and the rage I feel about that is so enormous that I want to do the most destructive,
Irreversible thing I can possibly think of.
I want him to sit three feet away and watch me come alive under someone else’s hands.
“Okay. I’ll do it. But you sit in that chair and you watch every second. You don’t close your eyes, you don’t leave, you don’t look away.
You built this, Marcus, so you watch what you turned me into.”
Saturday night. Black dress. Doorbell at nine. Four men fill my living room.
Vincent comes in first, tall, silver at his temples, the kind of man who owns a room just by standing in it.
Dante behind him, younger and darker, built for damage. Paul follows, lean and quiet with wire-rimmed glasses.
And then Ray, the biggest of all four, hands that could wrap around my entire waist.
Vincent scans the room with the confidence of a man who has been in rooms far more expensive than this one.
His eyes land on the wedding photos on the mantle, on my husband frozen in the armchair, and then on me.
He smiles at me the way you’d smile at a gift you’ve been promised. “Hello, sweetheart. You look stunning.” He drops onto our couch. “Rules are simple.
All four of us, every hole, your husband stays in that chair. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t speak, doesn’t look away.” He glances at Marcus. “Clear?”
I hold my husband’s eyes and let him see that my hands aren’t shaking. Then I turn to Vincent. “Tell me what you want.”
Every trace of warmth drops out of his voice. “Get on your f*****g knees.”
My knees hit the carpet and the impact sends a jolt through my body that feels less like submission and more like ignition.
Vincent moves behind me, drags the zipper of my dress down in one long pull, slow enough that I can feel each tooth separate, and lets the fabric pool around my thighs.
He unclasps my bra and my t**s fall free and Dante tilts his head and says “goddamn, Vince, you undersold it” without taking his eyes off my chest.
Ray shifts in his seat. Paul pushes his glasses up his nose.
Vincent peels my panties down my legs and I step out of them and I’m completely naked in my own living room, in front of four men I barely know,
while Marcus grips the armrests hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
The air conditioning hits my bare skin and my n*****s harden and Dante’s eyes drop to my chest and stay there.
Vincent walks a full circle around me, trailing one finger across my collarbone, down between my breasts, across my stomach. Inspecting me. Appraising me.
I can feel Marcus’s eyes boring into my back and the weight of his stare mixed with Vincent’s touch makes my p***y clench.
Vincent stops behind me and slaps my ass so hard the sound bounces off the walls.
I yelp and before I can recover he grips both cheeks and spreads me open so the cool air hits my p***y.
And my asshole and every man in the room can see exactly how wet I am.
“You ever been f****d here, sweetheart?” He presses his thumb against my asshole, firm and testing, and every muscle in my body locks.
“No,” I manage, and my face is burning because my entire marriage I never let Marcus anywhere near there.
He asked once and I said absolutely not and he never brought it up again.
And now a man from his poker game has his thumb on it in front of an audience.
And the violation of that boundary makes my p***y throb so hard I can feel my heartbeat in my c**t.
“You will be tonight.”
He drops to his knees behind me and drags his tongue across my rim, hot and thorough, and my entire body goes rigid for half a second before it melts.
His tongue circles and pushes inside and a moan rips out of me so loud I don’t recognize my own voice.
“Oh God—Vincent—oh f**k, that’s—”
I’m pressing my face into the carpet and pushing my hips back against his mouth because nothing in my entire life has ever felt like this.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop—” I’m moaning into the carpet with my ass in the air and my husband three feet away and I have never been this wet in my life.
His tongue pushes deeper while two of his fingers slide into my p***y from behind and he curves them against my front wall.
And the dual stimulation of his tongue in my ass and his fingers in my p***y is so overwhelming that I come apart so fast it catches both of us off guard.
My back arching, my thighs clamping around his hand,
This raw desperate sound tearing out of my throat while I shake and gasp and my p***y pulses around his fingers and the orgasm rolls through me in waves that don’t stop.
I find Marcus’s eyes while it’s happening,
And the look on his face, horror and arousal and devastation all tangled up together, is something neither of us will ever be able to undo.
“Please,” I hear myself whisper, and I don’t even know what I’m begging for. More. Everything. Whatever comes next.
Vincent stands up, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and turns to the others. “She’s ready. Who wants her first?”
