The Boarder Stole My Wife: Part Four

Want to watch this story unfold starring Lisa? Get the video version in the shop!

Want to read the full story right now? Grab a copy of the collection Explicit Infidelity Vol. One from my Amazon store, or the stand-alone story in my shop.

The Boarder Stole my Wife

$2.99

Buy Now

The Boarder Stole my Wife [MP4+eBook]

$10.99

Buy Now

Descent into Submission

Carl spent the night in the guest room, not sleeping, just replaying the scene in his head until the sun came up. His underwear was stiff and crusty against his skin, a sticky reminder of how he'd come like a loser in his pants. He got up early, showered in the hall bathroom so he wouldn't have to see the master bedroom, and went downstairs, hoping maybe things would feel normal again.

That hope died the moment he entered the kitchen.

Laurel was at the counter in a tight red dress Carl had never seen, the kind that showed off every inch of her body. The neckline was so low her tits were practically falling out, and the dress hugged her ass and hips like a second skin. Her hair was done up, shiny and perfect, catching the sunlight. She looked hot. She looked like she'd just been fucked.

Jeremy stood behind her, his hand resting possessively on her waist, his fingers splayed across the red fabric. His other hand reached past her to grab a coffee mug from the cabinet, his body pressing against hers in the process. The gesture was casual, familiar—the intimacy of lovers rather than strangers.

Neither of them looked up when Carl entered. Neither acknowledged his presence.

Carl’s gut twisted. The kitchen stank of coffee and sex, the smell of bodies that had been fucking all night. Or maybe he was just so messed up now he imagined it.

“Morning,” Carl managed, his voice rough from disuse.

Laurel glanced over her shoulder, offering him a distracted smile. “Oh, morning honey. Coffee’s fresh.”

That was all. No guilt, no sign she even remembered last night. She just went back to stirring whatever was in the pot, like nothing had happened.

Jeremy’s hand slid down Laurel’s waist, fingers grabbing her hip, then up, rubbing under her tit through the dress. He wanted Carl to see it. He wanted to show off what was his now.

Carl’s cock twitched in his khakis.

Not again. Not now. But his cock was already getting hard, just from seeing another man grope his wife. He could feel himself swelling in his pants, the fabric getting tight around his dick.

Jeremy leaned in close to Laurel’s ear, his lips nearly touching her skin. His voice was low but loud enough for Carl to hear. “Last night’s lesson was my favorite so far. The way you begged for my cock in your ass—fuck, that was hot.”

Laurel’s face flushed deep pink. She giggled, the sound high and girlish, and swatted playfully at Jeremy’s chest. “Jeremy! Don’t be crude.”

But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t tell him to stop. Her body leaned into his touch, seeking more contact.

Carl’s cock went rock hard, straining against his zipper. He couldn’t stop picturing Laurel on all fours, Jeremy’s fat cock ramming her ass, her face twisted up as he split her open. Did that happen? Was Jeremy still fucking her after Carl ran off to the guest room?

He should ask. Should demand answers. Should reclaim some fragment of his authority as husband and homeowner.

Instead, Carl moved to the coffee pot, his movements stiff and awkward as he tried to hide his erection. “I was thinking we could maybe do something today. Together. As a family—I mean, the three of us.”

He sounded pathetic, even to himself. Family. What a joke.

Jeremy barely glanced at him. “We’re busy today, man.”

The dismissal was casual, absolute. Jeremy’s hand continued its exploration of Laurel’s body, sliding up her ribcage, his thumb brushing the side of her breast. Laurel’s breathing changed, quickening, her chest rising and falling more rapidly.

“Oh,” Carl said. “What are you—what are you planning to do?”

“Jeremy’s going to help me reorganize the bedroom closet,” Laurel said, her voice breathy. “It’s a mess. Needs a man’s touch.”

The bedroom. Of course. More time for Jeremy to fuck her in the same bed where he’d already ruined her.

“I could help,” Carl offered weakly. “I mean, it’s my closet too.”

Jeremy’s blue eyes cut to him, cold and contemptuous. “We got it covered. Why don’t you worry about dinner? Maybe do some grocery shopping. We’ll need our energy for later.”

Later. Another lesson. Another round of Jeremy using Carl’s wife, making her cum in ways Carl never could.

Carl’s cock throbbed, leaking precum into his boxers. He could feel the wet spot growing, and tried to turn so they wouldn’t see how turned on he was.

But Jeremy noticed everything. His gaze dropped deliberately to Carl’s crotch, taking in the obvious bulge straining the khakis. That infuriating smirk spread across his face.

“Looks like someone’s excited about tonight’s plans,” Jeremy said, his voice rich with mockery.

Laurel followed Jeremy’s gaze, her eyes widening slightly when she saw her husband’s erection. For a moment, something flickered across her face—concern, maybe, or pity. But then Jeremy’s hand cupped her breast fully, his fingers kneading the soft flesh, and her attention snapped back to him completely.

Carl turned away, his face burning. This was all wrong. He was supposed to be a good man, a church deacon. He should be throwing Jeremy out, not standing here with a hard-on while his wife got groped.

But he knew he wouldn’t do anything. He couldn’t. Something inside him had snapped. Now, the more he was humiliated, the harder he got.

Carl went to the sink and turned the water on hard, grabbing a sponge and scrubbing dishes that were already clean. Behind him, Jeremy laughed low, and Laurel moaned as Jeremy kept feeling her up.

The fridge hummed. The sauce on the stove bubbled, the smell mixing with coffee, sex, and Carl’s own pathetic arousal.

“I’m thinking we should do it on the couch this time,” Jeremy said, his voice conversational. “Right in the living room where Carl can have a good view if he wants.”

“Jeremy,” Laurel breathed, but there was no censure in her tone. Only excitement.

“Maybe around eight? That work for you?”

“Yes,” Laurel whispered. “Eight is perfect.”

Carl froze, hands in the soapy water. Eight o’clock. In four hours, Jeremy would be fucking his wife on the couch, and Carl would be watching like a loser. They talked about it like it was nothing, just another thing on the calendar.

Carl’s cock stayed hard, aching, begging for attention he couldn’t give it while they were still there.

He scrubbed harder at a plate that was already clean, jaw tight, breathing fast. Behind him, Jeremy’s hand slid down over Laurel’s hip to her ass, grabbing a handful. Laurel gasped and pushed her ass back into his hand.

“Can’t wait,” Jeremy murmured. “Gonna make you scream so loud the neighbors hear.”

“Yes,” Laurel agreed. “I want that. I want everyone to know.”

Carl’s knuckles went white on the sponge, soap running down his arms. This was his life now. He was the cuckold, washing dishes while his wife planned to get fucked by a teenager in their own house.

And Carl’s cock just throbbed harder, not with anger, but with sick excitement.

***

Eight o’clock came. Carl spent the hours before just going through the motions, pretending to read, staring at the TV, but all he could think about was what was coming. When he heard the first sounds from upstairs, he tried to stay put, gripping the chair, telling himself not to go. But his body got up anyway, dragging him to the stairs.

The stairs creaked as Carl went up, every step reminding him what a pathetic mess he was. The hallway was dark, but from the master bedroom he could hear Laurel moaning, desperate and loud, mixed with the slap of skin on skin. His cock got hard instantly.

Carl walked down the hall on shaky legs, breathing fast, heart pounding. The door was open just enough for him to see the bed, see movement, hear everything.

He reached the doorway and peered inside, his hand bracing against the frame to keep himself upright.

Laurel was on all fours on their bed, naked, her body lit up by the lamp. Her tits swung with every thrust, nipples hard and dark. Her mouth hung open, moaning and gasping like she was about to cry.

Jeremy was behind her, grabbing her hips so hard he’d leave bruises. He was sweating, slamming his thick cock into Laurel’s pussy, stretching her open. Carl could see Jeremy’s cock disappearing into his wife, filling her up.

“Take it,” Jeremy growled, his voice rough with exertion and dominance. “Take it like the slut you are.”

Laurel’s back arched, her ass pushing back to meet his thrusts. “Yes,” she gasped. “God, yes. Fuck me harder.”

Hearing his wife talk like that made Carl’s whole body jolt. He grabbed his cock through his pants, trying to get some relief, but he was so hard it hurt.

Jeremy’s rhythm increased, his hips snapping forward with brutal force. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room—wet slaps that spoke of Laurel’s arousal, of how thoroughly soaked she was for Jeremy’s cock. The headboard thumped against the wall in steady rhythm, marking time to Carl’s humiliation.

“You love this cock, don’t you?” Jeremy demanded, one hand leaving Laurel’s hip to tangle in her hair, pulling her head back. “Say it.”

“I love it,” Laurel sobbed, her voice breaking. “I love your cock. I need it.”

Carl squeezed his cock through his pants, hips jerking forward without thinking. He was turned on and ashamed at the same time, not even sure which was stronger. This was him now—standing in the doorway, jerking off while his wife got fucked by someone else.

Jeremy’s head turned, those piercing blue eyes finding Carl in the shadows. The young man’s face split into a cruel smile, his rhythm never faltering. If anything, his thrusts became more aggressive, more deliberate, putting on a show.

“Enjoying the view, cuck?” Jeremy called out, his voice thick with mockery and satisfaction. “Stay and learn. Watch how a real man fucks a woman.”

Carl froze, hand still on his cock. He should leave, should try to save some dignity, but he couldn’t move. He just stared at his wife getting fucked.

“Don’t be shy,” Jeremy continued, increasing his pace. “Your wife doesn’t mind. Do you, baby? You like knowing your husband’s watching me destroy this pussy?”

Laurel looked at Carl, eyes glazed. For a second, he saw it all—pleasure, guilt, pity, and something else. She liked this. She liked seeing him humiliated almost as much as she liked Jeremy’s cock.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though whether the apology was sincere or simply part of the performance, Carl couldn’t tell. Then Jeremy thrust particularly hard and her eyes rolled back, apology forgotten, consumed by sensation.

“That’s what I thought,” Jeremy said with satisfaction. He released Laurel’s hair, both hands returning to her hips to grip them bruisingly. “He’s not going anywhere. He can’t. Can you, Carl? You need to watch. Need to see what you’ll never be able to do to your own wife.”

The words hit Carl hard, because they were true. He started rubbing his cock through his pants, not even trying to hide it anymore. What was the point? They both knew what he was.

Jeremy’s muscles tensed as he fucked Laurel harder, sweat running down his chest, tattooed arms flexing. He was everything Carl wasn’t—young, strong, confident, with a cock that could turn Laurel into a begging mess.

“Gonna cum,” Jeremy announced, his voice strained. “Gonna fill this pussy up. Mark what’s mine.”

“Yes,” Laurel begged, her voice breaking into sobs. “Please, Jeremy, I need it. Need your cum inside me.”

Carl’s breathing sped up, matching Jeremy’s thrusts. He rubbed his cock faster through his pants, the friction almost hurting. He was close. Watching Jeremy’s cock slam into his wife, hearing her beg, knowing how pathetic he was—it was all too much.

Jeremy’s thrusts became erratic, losing their rhythm. His face contorted, muscles going rigid. “Fuck, here it comes. Take it, slut. Take all of it.”

He slammed forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt in Laurel’s pussy. His body shuddered as orgasm claimed him, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside her. The guttural groan that tore from his throat was triumphant, victorious—the sound of a conqueror claiming his prize.

The sight and sound pushed Laurel over her edge. Her whole body convulsed, her pussy clamping down on Jeremy’s spurting cock as her own orgasm crashed through her. She screamed—actually screamed—her voice high and broken, pleasure so intense it bordered on agony. Her arms gave out, her face pressing into the mattress as wave after wave of ecstasy wracked through her.

And Carl came.

His cock jerked in his pants, shooting cum into his underwear so hard his knees almost gave out. He had to grab the doorframe to keep from falling. He came in his pants, helpless, while his wife screamed on another man’s cock.

They all stayed like that for a while—Jeremy still buried in Laurel’s twitching pussy, Laurel face-down and gasping, Carl slumped against the doorframe with a big wet stain spreading on his pants.

Jeremy pulled out, his cock softening as it slid from Laurel’s used-up pussy with a wet, nasty sound. Cum started leaking out of her right away, thick and white, running down her thighs. She was marked as fucked and owned.

Jeremy climbed off the bed, his eyes finding Carl’s. The young man’s expression was one of absolute contempt and satisfaction, his gaze dropping deliberately to the obvious wet stain on Carl’s crotch.

“Better get used to this, old man,” Jeremy said, his voice low and certain. “Your wife belongs to me now.”

The words hit Carl like a punch. He stood there in the doorway, cum soaking his pants, watching Jeremy’s load drip out of his wife, and knew it was true.

This was his life now. This was what he was. And some twisted part of him wanted it.