Last time, the door to our bedroom was mostly closed, and I had to nudge it slightly to be able to see inside.
This time, the door was ajar.
Reflexively, I crouched down to avoid being noticed. Steadying myself for what I knew I was about to see, I looked inside, directly at the source of the noise I had heard.
Julien was sitting upright against our headboard, dressed just in his briefs. In his lap sat a younger guy, who looked as though he couldn't have been much older than twenty-one.
They were making out.
Julien moved slowly, almost lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. He maintained one hand on his boy's nape as he kissed him, holding him in place; he ran his other hand underneath his shirt, touching him all over. Tiny breaths, diminutive exhalations of pleasure, escaped the boy's lips between kisses.
A needling discomfort threaded itself through me; mentally, I pushed it aside. I needed to bear witness.
Julien broke their kissing only to peel off the boy's shirt, leaving him in his underwear. His kissing grew in hunger now that nothing prevented their skin-on-skin contact. He pulled the boy into a deeper embrace, their chests pressed together, his hands traveling south to grip the boy's hips.
The boy reciprocated in earnest. With his arms wrapped around Julien, he staked his claim on my husband and began to swivel his hips, drawing slow spirals into Julien's groin.
Julien tolerated the boy's flirtations, but I knew better: Julien was merely allowing the boy to have his fun. He's always preferred to be in control.
As if on cue, Julien flipped the boy onto his back and slipped off his underwear, exposing his nice, shapely ass; with a start, I recognized him as the same twink from that original night.
Were I in a more pensive mood, I probably would have realized right then that the twink's presence implied that Julien has been in contact with him all these weeks. It's a trail of thought that I've since followed in hindsight, but in this moment I just didn't have the mental bandwidth for it--I knew it would break me, right then and there.
Julien kissed the twink's neck ravenously, like a lion devouring his prey. In response, the twink's body language shifted into total submission. He became limp, open for my husband to take from him what he wished.
The twink's total capitulation was the switch that, turned on, spurred Julien into action. He moved lower to suck on the twink's nipples, taking care to overstimulate them until the twink's moaning became louder and louder. To shut him up, Julien stuck his thumb into the twink's mouth for him to suckle. When his thumb had been sufficiently wetted, he placed it against the twink's hole and drew circles around the rim of his opening. The combined stimulation of the twink's chest and ass was evidently too much to bear; he writhed as he cried out, his body completely at Julien's mercy.
Julien was preparing this boy for the fuck of his life.
"Turn over, babe, face down," Julien instructed.
The twink complied with haste, clearly excited for what--who--was about to come.
Julien crouched over him and trailed tender kisses from the twink's neck down his spine, causing him to shudder with anticipation. When he reached the boy's ass, Julien wasted no time in using both hands to part the twink's soft, round cheeks and reveal his hole. Without hesitation, Julien lowered his head and began to take communion.
My insides knotted themselves into twists; I couldn't remember the last time he had done that to me. To any other third party, the lasciviousness on display might as well have been art. To me, it was a stark reminder of everything I once had, everything I might be losing. Still, I was determined to see this to the end.
"Please..."
The twink became more wanton in his whining as Julien worked his magic, tonguing his way around his hole without plunging into the center. He slapped the twink's ass, firm, determined to leave handprints.
Beyond my initial emotional discomfort, I was reluctant to admit to myself that it was a good show. It's a strange position to be in, sitting there and watching my lover make love to someone else. But, inebriation inhibits inhibitions, and I had plenty of physical evidence between my legs proving that I liked what I saw more than I wanted to let on. As Julien finally gave the twink what he wanted and slid his tongue into the twink's depths, I too acquiesced and allowed my hand to drift into my pants, my own erection too hard to ignore. Julien eats pussy with passionate hunger--he likes to make boys squirm.
It's different this time, I told myself, as if to justify my arousal. I made this happen. I couldn't fault him for going along with his natural instincts; by spreading his seed, he's merely doing what every man needs to do, is meant to do.
Just not with me.
He tongue-fucked the twink senseless, evidently to fully lubricate him with his saliva. I chanced a glance at their surroundings; there was no condom in sight, no pretense of protection--Julien fully intended to inseminate this boy.
It's an honor he used to reserve for me. My mouth ran dry, but I felt myself further stiffening below the waist.
No turning back now.
I watched my partner climb atop and mount his boy. He paused to grab and squirt some lube onto himself--and, then, the moment arrived.
Julien placed the tip of his cock against the twink's entrance--but he didn't move to press inside. He hesitated.
For a second, hope returned to me. I wanted--what did I want? Did I want him to stop? Did I want him to continue?
But, his hesitation was for another reason entirely.
"Back up on it," Julien commanded. He wanted the boy to impale himself on his cock, like a complete and utter whore.
Obediently, the twink arched his hips. From my vantage point, I had only a partial view of him slowly sliding every inch of my husband into him. He moved at a snail's pace, trying to acclimate himself to Julien's girth as he went.
Julien kept his hands on the twink's waist, guiding the angle of penetration without affecting the pace.
At first, the twink struggled. Julien's girth is, in actuality, quite thick, but there are ways to push through. He procured a bottle of poppers, unscrewed it open, and leaned over to place it at the twink's nose.
"Empty your lungs, and breathe deep, slowly," he said, his voice soft.
The twink inhaled and, with that breath, fully sheathed Julien's erection within him.
Seconds later, he gasped.
I knew he was feeling the combined assault on his senses of the poppers high and Julien stretching him open. It's almost indescribable, the duo of being completely stuffed and poppers-induced careless abandon. It's a level of intimacy I've only ever experienced with Julien.
Julien began to fuck the twink.
He pulled his hips back and pushed himself back into his boy, leisurely, as if he was prolonging his strokes for someone's viewing pleasure.
Despite the fact of the matter being that my partner was screwing someone else, the crux was still that it was him, my handsome stud, losing himself in a haze of hedonistic fornication. I was transfixed by his movements, the form of his body as he dominated another's.
The twink bucked his hips each time Julien thrusted all the way into him like a bitch in heat. He was no longer coherent, no longer anything but a willing vessel to receive Julien's sex.
I watched Julien fuck him with increasing zeal. It became animalistic; he stripped away all tenderness and replaced it with pure carnal desire.
I felt envy, I wanted to be underneath him; I felt acceptance, I wanted him to finally be satisfied. Divergent emotions flitted through me, but the end result was singular because the body is simpler than the mind in its wants: I was so fucking hard.
Time stopped. All that mattered was Julien in front of me, pounding away at the twink. I was hypnotized--
--and, then, through the darkness, Julien looked directly at me. Recognition briefly flashed across his face.
My heart seized. It jumped into my throat, and I choked. I couldn't breathe.
I was caught.
I thought I had been the one to catch him in the act, but, now, it was reversed. I was the one intruding on his most intimate moment. I had broken an unspoken rule: never interrupt a man in the midst of his rut, his birthright--humanity survives as a direct result of man planting his seeds.
But, Julien carried on. His expression became sly, cocky, as he fucked him. He looked away from me and back down at his boy. He brought his hands together, pulled off his wedding ring, grasped one of the boy's hands, and slipped the ring onto the boy's finger.
I was frozen. Julien wanted to put me in my place, wanted me subservient to him.
His strokes gained intensity and picked up speed. He was going to ensure that he bred the boy in front of me, once more.
He glanced up and locked eyes with me one last time. Then, he crouched down and took the boy's lips into his own for their most passionate kiss of the night.
He thrusted his cock deep into the boy, and his body began to spasm. Without breaking their kiss, he pumped load after load after load.
The deed was done.
As Julien came, endorphins rushed my brain. On some twisted level, I realized that I'd come to associate his pleasure with my own. I was still hard, but I didn't bother touching myself; it no longer mattered.
Did he do this to me? Was he conditioning me, all this time, to want this? Is that why I was allowed to catch those hints of his infidelity?
Why didn't he just tell me--why did he allow me to find out in this way?
Did he love me, still?
Yet, I didn't know if I could blame him for all of this. After all, I made this night happen--I had chosen to give him the opportunity.
It's what I wanted, right?
Merry Christmas to me.