Chapter 2 — They Do It Like Us Too 1 (2)

Pitch-black darkness conjured an eerie kind of fear. I opened my eyes groggily, but saw nothing at all.

The unfamiliar sensation against my legs told me this wasn't our home.

The skin pressed against mine was far smoother than my wife's—a tactile clue dragging back memories of last night's fierce coupling.

As my vision adjusted and my mind cleared, I caught intermittent, stifled moans—low, sensual, barely contained.

I strained every nerve, trying to locate the source, when I heard rustling near the bed. Then I recognized it: my wife's soft groans coming from the floor.

Why was she on the floor making those sounds at this hour? A cold shiver ran through me—sudden, sharp, jolting me fully awake.

Right. We weren't alone. Two couples were sleeping here together.

The feel of soft female skin along my thigh meant his wife lay beside me.

Which meant my wife was on the floor—with him.

And those muffled moans? Undoubtedly theirs.

Though I couldn't see clearly, I knew—she was biting her lip, suppressing cries that threatened to burst free.

While I slept beside his wife, my own wife was deep in passionate sex with him on the floor.

Had last night's encounter between them left something unfinished? Or was she simply craving more of his cock?

I strained to listen—and soon, unmistakably, I could hear the slick, rhythmic sound of his cock sliding in and out of her pussy.

"Ah… I'm going crazy. Ah… ah."

Her whispered, breathy moans—fragmented, desperate—sent electric shocks through my nerves.

I clenched my fists, channeling the surge of jealousy straight into my cock, gripping it hard beneath the sheets.

"Are you okay? It doesn't hurt, does it?"

"Ah… yes. Mmm… hnn… yes, good. So good."

She muffled her voice with one hand, but the sounds still pierced the dark, drilling into my ears.

How could she be enjoying it so much—when earlier, with me, she'd shown no such pleasure?

Even as she took his cock deep inside, she had stared into my eyes. And now, while I slept, she was taking him again.

The wet friction between her pussy and his cock—the glistening sounds of their joining—was more arousing than any sound in the world.

Did they not care that I might wake up? Or had they already decided it didn't matter if I watched or listened?

Her moans carried no trace of guilt, no awareness of my presence.

I could feel his wife's smooth skin beside me, yet I couldn't move.

The primal harmony of their sex—their animalistic rhythm—held me completely paralyzed.

"Ah… I can't take it. Ah… I don't know myself."

"Uh… uh…"

Together, they cried out like beasts, racing toward climax.

My own cock twitched violently, as if sharing their sensation.

"Ahh! I'm losing it!"

My wife's final scream tore through the dark.

At that exact moment, his wife suddenly clamped her hand around my cock.

As my wife screamed through her peak and he erupted inside her, the room filled with thick, pulsing heat.

I felt something surge violently within me—rising, unstoppable.

Then, in an instant, his wife plunged my cock into her mouth.

I erupted—hot, violent spurts flooding her throat. Again and again, I came, emptying myself into her.

Without a single physical touch, I had exploded—driven only by the sounds of their cries, the image of their bodies moving together.

His wife swallowed every drop, then calmly kept my cock in her mouth, silent, as if nothing had happened.

My wife and him, unaware of my release, continued gasping heavily.

"That tight, fluttering grip—it's incredible."

"Really?"

"It's been so long since I've felt this satisfied."

"I thought I'd pass out completely."

"You're not sore?"

"A little stiff, but it was good."

They spoke openly about their experience.

When had my wife ever described sex to me like that? Never. Not once had she shared how she truly felt after we made love.

Yet here she was—confessing her pleasure without shame to a stranger.

Listening to them talk, jealousy roared from deep within, shaking my body.

"Ah… when you stroke me like that, it feels amazing."

I heard her whisper—his hand caressing some intimate part of her.

Was he touching her most sacred spot? The place now soaked with their mingled fluids?

Just as his wife had said—he had excellent manners. Even after coming, he gently stroked her.

And his wife—she had just swallowed my entire load, yet sat quietly, my cock still in her mouth, pretending nothing was happening.

Was it a pact of deliberate indifference?

"Stroking my back like that feels so good."

"Your husband doesn't do that?"

"I never knew being touched on the back could feel so languid."

So he wasn't touching her pussy—just running his hands over her back.

Apparently satisfied by their intense round, their conversation faded soon after.

I waited. No movement. No sound.

Suppressing the turmoil inside, I slowly let myself drift back to sleep.

A clinking noise woke me.

Opening my eyes, an unfamiliar ceiling greeted me, bathed in bright morning light.

I turned my head—his wife stood naked at the sink, preparing a late breakfast.

Sunlight glinted off her plump, glistening buttocks.

Full and round, they swayed with every motion, jiggling softly as she moved.

She had a truly captivating body.

Suddenly noticing my wife was missing, I lifted my head slightly.

There she was—naked, asleep on the floor beside him.

He lay flat on his back, serving as her pillow. She rested her head on his arm, curled into his chest, one leg draped over his cock.

Her thigh covered his shaft, and her posture pressed her deepest warmth tightly against his left thigh.

Seeing that—her sleeping so peacefully in another man's arms—I felt rage rise like bile.

All night, she had lain there, nestled against him, warm and content?

After such wild sex behind her husband's back, shouldn't she have woken first, composed herself?

Instead, she looked utterly at ease.

For a split second, I wanted to leap up and kick them both.

But she remained oblivious, burrowing deeper into his embrace.

A dark thought gripped me—had we crossed a river tonight we could never return from?

But hadn't this been unspoken between us? Hadn't I known this might happen? Wasn't I the one who had convinced her to go through with it?

I scolded myself, struggling to calm down.

Yet the scene before me pushed me toward madness.

The image of my naked wife clinging to another man, her leg draped over his cock, savoring it even in sleep—it ignited a strange, burning jealousy.

I stared—unblinking—at my wife and him.

If I rushed over and pulled them apart, if I showed disgust—it would betray not just them, but us.

Hadn't I spent the night holding his wife? Hadn't I come violently into her mouth, aroused by the sounds of my wife fucking him?

I had to accept reality. I had to stay true to what we'd agreed.

As I stared, my wife stirred—then suddenly opened her eyes.

She met my gaze.

Without flinching, without guilt, she simply closed her eyes again. Then shifted, pulling the crumpled blanket over them both.

Maybe she was embarrassed for me to see her naked with him. Maybe she was cold. I didn't know.

But the blanket, pulled up to their heads, only heightened the tension—revealing their bare forms beneath the thin fabric. Through the sheer cloth, their bodies looked almost mystical.

Then I saw it—she lowered her leg slightly and reached under the blanket.

Her hand moved—clearly stroking his cock.

Even knowing I was watching, she boldly fondled him beneath the covers.

In that moment, uncontrollable excitement surged through me.

My eyes burned. My heart pounded. Was it jealousy? Desire? Some twisted blend of both?

My cock hardened instantly, rising sharply beneath the sheet.

Under the blanket, her teasing became unmistakable—rubbing his shaft with her thigh, stroking him eagerly with her hand.

Just then, his wife stepped in front of me—blocking my view, as if shielding them.

Her center—neatly trimmed—now filled my vision.

She smiled faintly, seductively, locking eyes with me.

I felt pulled into her gaze, helpless.

She sat beside me, leaned in, and gently pressed her lips to mine. Her soft tongue slipped into my mouth.

I was already so aroused—I sucked her tongue roughly, hungrily.

She shifted, lifting me slightly, positioning me upright on the bed.

Now her body blocked my view of my wife and him on the floor.

We kissed deeply. I took her breast into my mouth.

Her nipple—neither large nor small—slid onto my tongue.

I bit it gently. She cried out, arching her head back.

Then harder—I gripped her breast firmly, biting her nipple with force.

It was as if I were punishing her—for what her husband had done to my wife.

She responded by throwing her head back further, arching her spine like a bow.

As if she sensed my jealousy.

As if she enjoyed it.

She wrapped both arms around my head, pressing my face deeper into her chest.

I trailed my lips down—from nipple to navel—then lowered myself, crawling toward her core.

She grabbed my hand, pulled me off the bed, and guided me to the floor.

She sat me down, then pulled my head into her lap.

Kneeling before her, I began licking through her thick, lush curls.

She clutched my head tightly, forcing me deeper into her center.

I drank from her spring wildly—like a man starved, gulping down her clear, sweet fluid.

She moaned loudly—too loudly. Almost as if she wanted my wife and him to hear.

"Ah… yes… right there… there! Harder! Suck harder! More!"

"How is it? Is my taste good? Tell me!"

"Drink it all. Suck it all. Ah!"

She shouted, moaning without restraint. Her cries only fueled my arousal.

As I sucked her clit, I glanced sideways—under the blanket, I saw my wife's head bobbing over his cock.

Even covered, she was sucking him fiercely—almost swallowing his entire length.

But she made no sound. Quiet. Devoted. Intense.

That sight drove me wild.

Already overwhelmed by her silence, his wife's loud moans pushed me further into frenzy.

I climbed back onto the bed, pulled her onto my lap, facing me.

Without hesitation, I thrust my cock into her pussy.

Already soaked with my saliva and her juices, she took me effortlessly.

Her heat clamped around me—tight, pulsing, gripping my shaft with astonishing strength.

To the side, I saw my wife—now kneeling between his legs, hands wrapped around his cock, sucking him deeply.

Suddenly, the room filled with her high-pitched moans and wet, slapping sounds.

Now, whatever my wife did, I didn't care—I focused only on pumping.

His wife threw her arms around my neck, arched her back, and screamed.

I gripped her hips, driving into her—pull, push, pull, push—relentless.

We raced toward climax together.

Mid-thrust, I glanced at my wife.

She had pulled the blanket off—now straddling him openly.

From the angle, she had mounted him, sinking his cock deep into her pussy.

Last night, she had seemed overwhelmed by his size.

Now she rode him confidently.

What had he done to her through the night to make her take him so deeply?

Watching her, pounding into his wife, I felt an explosion building—thunderous in my ears.

Her pussy convulsed around me, tight as a fist.

Then—my wife, perhaps stifled by the blanket, suddenly kicked it off.

Her pose was exposed—fully visible.

On her knees, riding him, hands pressing down on his chest, lifting and lowering her hips.

I couldn't see her face—her back was to me—but from her cries, I knew she was close.

His wife and mine alternated moans and screams.

"Ah… good… ah… hmm… mm…"

"I'm… losing it… I'm… going crazy…"

The difference? His wife kept saying good. Mine kept crying crazy.

Then—my wife shrieked, collapsing onto his chest.

At the same moment, I erupted—jet after jet of hot semen flooding his wife's pussy.

She clung to me, trembling violently.

An intensity unlike anything I'd ever felt spread through every limb.

We had just finished our morning sex—together, entangled, irrevocably changed.