About Him

 

I watched them, subconsciously playing with my wife's wedding rings which I wore on a thin, silver chain around my neck. 

"You hold these," she told me as she fastened the chain around my neck. 

"W...why?" I asked.

"I don't wear them when I'm with him because when I'm with him, I'm his. But you'll wear them to remind you when he's done, I'm still yours."

I paused the video, stared at her bare wedding finger. Then my eyes drifted, first to her, then to him, then to them together. They were natural, like they belonged together. A pretty woman and a strong, masculine man. I started the video again, watched him massage her shoulders, watched his hands slip around to her breasts, watched as her eyes fluttered at his touch.

Natural. They were natural together. I paused it again, turned, looked at my wife who was now sitting next to me, watching me as I watched the video of them. "You look so...so natural together," I said.

She squeezed my hand. "I know," she said, "that's...that's a perfect word to describe it. Keep playing," she encouraged me.

I turned the video back on; my eyes went wide as I watched her slip off the bed onto her knees, reach for him, reach into his underwear, take out his erect cock, and start licking it, sucking it, worshipping it.

"Amy," I stammered.

"Shhhh, I know," she said, squeezing my hand, "I know."

"You said, you never..." I'd asked her, well, begged her, multiple times to do that to me. "You said you didn't like to do that."

She nodded. "I...I know..."

Watching her, it was obvious it wasn't something she was doing just to please him; it was something she wanted to do, even needed to do. "You...you look like...like you're enjoying it."

She nodded again. "I...I know," she said, "I...I was...I do...to him..." I understood what she meant. That was for him and only for him; no matter how much she looked like she liked it, it was something she'd only do for him. "Are...are you okay with that?" she asked.

"You'll never...I mean..."

She shook her head. "Just...just him," she said. She'd had her hand on my thigh. As she said just him, she moved her hand, rested it on my erection, gently touched it. 

"A...Amy," I moaned.

"Just him," she reiterated, "just him."

I nodded, eyes glued to the screen, watching as my wife continued to give her lover as amazing a blowjob a woman could give. I saw him take her head in his hands, half guiding her, half directing her. She didn't resist, if anything, she looked like she welcomed his assertion of power. "He's..."

"Shhhh," she said, ever so gently massaging me, "that's what men do, love, that's what they do."

I saw his face, saw him tense. "Amy, does he..."

"Shhhh," she said again, "it's okay, I wanted him to."

"Ohhhhhh, fuck," he moaned, holding my wife's head, holding her mouth on his cock as he convulsed.

I'll give her credit, she didn't buck, didn't choke, didn't fight. Instead, she swallowed and swallowed, taking almost every drop of cum from him. I watched as a small drip escaped her lips, just a few drops. She took her mouth off him, finally, looked at him, smiled as she scooped it up with her finger and licked it off.

"Amy," I stuttered.

She kept rubbing me, gently, not enough to make me anywhere close to cumming, but enough to push me nearer the edge. "Is...is that okay?" she asked. "I mean...I know you want...I know you wish I would...but...is that okay...for him? It's kind of...it's not the thing you tell a man no to."

I don't know if her words were purposeful, if she meant to contrast him to me, but that was the practical effect. "Amy, I...I always tried to..."

"I know, love, I know. And that's why you're here with me."

We watched the entire video, the entire hour and a half of their love making. Their natural love making. At the end, she asked it, she asked me. "I can't stop," she said, "I don't want to stop, please, are you okay with this?"

I swallowed, nodded. "Yes," I whispered.

"Even knowing I'm doing certain...things...with him that we...we won't do." She started rubbing me harder, faster, bringing me closer and closer.

"Yes," I said, "yes."

Before I erupted, she sensed it, stopped. "Amy," I moaned.

"I know," she said, "I know. I really, really know. But it's important we don't, not today, not this time."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because this was about him, today was about him. Not you. Him."

The video stopped on the last frame, where they'd ended it. On the screen was now a static image of them, my wife and her boyfriend, postcoital, her eyes closed, not sleeping, resting, content, in his arms as he nuzzled her neck.

"It...you look...so happy," I said.

"I know...I am...he's just so...him."