I edged closer to the neighbor's pool, heated and steaming as my heart pounding not with fury, but curiosity. There he was, my husband, broad-shouldered and sun-kissed from his days of carpentry, muscles taut as he moved with a primal rhythm I had never witnessed before.

"Ah, damn, that's good," I heard her moan, the sound slicing through the thick air.

"Like that?" His voice was husky, different. Commanding in a way that sent an unfamiliar shiver down my spine.

I should've been outraged, but instead, a strange warmth bloomed within me. Their bodies glistened with water and sweat, entwined in unabashed desire. She was attractive, no doubt, legs wrapped around him like ivy on an oak. Her husband, some tech wizard, probably never touched her with such unbridled passion.

"More, give me more," she begged, and my husband obliged, his hands grasping her hips, guiding them to meet each thrust.

A coldness had settled between us long ago, our own encounters nothing more than routine. But this, this was raw and alive. It ignited something within me, a flicker of intrigue at the thought of being watched with the same intensity.

"Fuck, yes!" He grunted, and I saw her nails dig into the small of his back.

My breath caught. This wasn't just sex; it was a performance, and I was the unintended audience. Could the sight of me with another bring out this beast in him? Would he watch with darkened eyes, jaw clenched, veins throbbing with jealousy and desire?

"Harder," she gasped, and he drove into her with the power of a hammer driving nails into wood.

The idea took hold, a forbidden seed planted in the fertile ground of my imagination. What if he saw me like this, lost in ecstasy beneath another? Would it rekindle the fire that once raged between us?

"Come for me," he commanded, and she shattered, her cries echoing off the water, a siren's song luring me toward uncharted waters.

As they collapsed into each other, spent and panting, I slipped away unnoticed, my mind alight with possibilities. If watching him could set my pulse racing, what would watching me do to him? A plan hatched in my mind instantly that made me smile.

---

The doorbell chimed, and I sauntered over with a calculated casualness, plucking the card from the bouquet of red roses. His eyes, heavy with questions, followed me as I set them in a vase.

"Who's the lucky guy?" he asked, a forced lightness in his tone.

"Does it matter?" I tossed back, my fingers deliberately caressing the petals. He watched, something flickering behind his gaze. The candy arrived next, decadent chocolates that I let melt on my tongue, savoring each bite under his increasingly watchful eyes. Then came the lingerie, delicate and provocative, which I left conspicuously on our bed.

"Someone's been busy," he remarked dryly, but I could see the intrigue, the spark of interest lighting the kindling I had carefully laid out.

Valentine's Day dawned with expectancy hanging thick in the air. He found me in the kitchen, the aroma of coffee mingling with the scent of anticipation. I leaned against the counter, the silky fabric of my robe hinting at the secrets beneath.

"Okay, what's going on?" he demanded, his voice betraying a taut edge.

I took a languid sip of my coffee. "Well, I've been seeing this guy," I began, watching his reaction closely.

"Seeing? As in…?" His hands clenched into fists.

"Seeing," I affirmed, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What? You're cheating on me? With the little honey pot next door, right?" Disbelief, outrage, perhaps even hurt, flickered across his rugged features.

"Is it cheating if it's playing by your rules?" I countered. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, we were locked in a silent battle of wills.

"Double standards don't suit you," I added softly, tipping the balance. Recognition darkened his expression; he knew then that his secret rendezvous was no longer secret.

"Damn," he muttered, the word hanging between us like a challenge.

"Damn indeed," I whispered back, feeling the shift, the beginning of something new, something dangerously thrilling.

---

His gaze drilled into me, a mix of anger and something else - something hungry. I could almost see the cogs turning in his head, recalibrating the game we'd been playing separately together.

"Tell me about this guy," he growled, voice thick with barely restrained emotions.

I tilted my head, feigned innocence laced with mischief. "He's… impressive," I said, drawing out the word, savoring the tension. "Bigger than you, but only just."

"Is that right?" His hands found the countertop, gripping the edge as if to steady himself against the storm I was conjuring.

"Uh-huh." I smiled, sweetly venomous. "And when he fucks me… The way he takes my nipples in his mouth… The way he grabs my ass as he shoves it in so deep," I closed my eyes, recalling the image of my husband with her, repurposing it to stoke the fire. "It's like nothing else."

"Jesus," he muttered, jaw working as if chewing on the images I'd painted, the betrayal.

"His cum tastes good." I watched him closely, saw the vein throbbing at his temple. "I guess I just never let you do that… turns out, I love it."

"Stop," he snapped, but there was no conviction behind it. Instead, his hands released the countertop, reached for me, pulling me close with a force that sent ripples of anticipation through my body.

"What? Are you going to show me how you can fuck?" My words were a taunt, a red flag waved before a bull. "I bet I won't even feel you inside me. After his thick cock has stretched me."

"Does he cum in you?" The question erupted from him, raw and ragged.

"Of course." I leaned in, whispering directly into his ear. "What would be the point otherwise? I love feeling him twitch as he fills me up with his cum..."

His hands tightened on me, his breath hot against my neck. Something primal had awakened within him, and I reveled in the power of it, knowing I had crossed a line we could never uncross.

---

He spun me, sudden and sure, manhandling me in a way he'd never done. A way that made my pussy tingle with excitement. The world tilted as my shorts slid down my thighs. My palms pressed against the cool surface of our bedroom wall, the familiar texture grounding me when everything else was adrift in this tempest he'd unleashed. I didn't know what to expect, a fucking or a spanking, but certainly not the feeling of his tongue licking my pussy and asshole.

"Do you like that?" The words spilled from my lips, a challenge laced with a dark hunger. "Do you like the taste of my well fucked pussy?"

"When was the last time?" His voice was low, gruff, vibrating through the still air between us.

"About an hour before you got home," I lied. But the confession was real to him, and became a provocative weapon. I braced for his reaction, but instead of anger, his tongue redoubled its efforts, languid strokes at first, growing bolder, hungrier.

I shuddered, gasping as realization dawned - he believed he was lapping up another man's release from within me. It was wrong, it was taboo, but it sent a thrill spiraling through my core, fierce and undeniable.

Finally, unable to contain himself, he stood up and pressed himself against me. His hardness, insistent, demanding. No words were needed, his actions spoke volumes. He took me with a ferocity I hadn't felt in years, each thrust driving deeper, obliterating every thought except the primal rhythm of our bodies colliding.

Then, with a growl, he pulled back. The heat of his cum splashed across my breasts. So much of it, the sticky, sweet evidence of his passion. I reached for him, drew him to my lips. The tang of his climax hit my tongue for the first time in our marriage, and it was just as imagined in my lie. Even sweeter when I thought about the tight pussy his cock had been entertaining as of late.

"God, it was good," I murmured, savoring the taste, the transgression, that this - us - had been irrevocably changed.

---

The warmth of his body against mine, in the afterglow of this perfect moment, he traced gentle circles over my sensitized flesh - it was a tender lullaby that reawakened my desire. My breath hitched as his fingers found that sweet spot, coaxing moans from deep within me. We had never done it more than once, preferring instead to just roll away after. But neither of us wanted this to end.

"Baby," I whispered, nudging into his touch, "I think we should invite your girlfriend over for Valentine's Day."

His fingers stilled, and he lifted his gaze to meet mine, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "Really? Why?"

I bit my lip, letting the idea hang between us like forbidden fruit. "I want to watch you fuck her, and then… I want to eat you out of her." The words fell from my lips, heavy with promise and laced with the thrill of the unspoken.

Something flared in his eyes - surprise, intrigue, lust - all mingling in a potent cocktail that seemed to surge directly to his groin. I felt him harden against my thigh, and my body responded in kind, liquid heat pooling between my legs.

In moments, he was on top of me, all raw power and need. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading them wide as he entered me with one swift thrust. The room filled with the sounds of our union; the slap of skin, the ragged breaths, the whispered encouragements.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, each word punctuated by the relentless rhythm of his hips.

"Harder," I gasped out, nails raking down his back, urging him deeper into the intoxicating abyss we'd created.

He obliged, and pleasure coiled tighter within me. I clung to him, lost in the sensation, the taboo fantasy spurring us on to greater heights.

Maybe next year, If this is how my husband reacts, maybe I really will fuck another guy. My husband's pace quickened, every line of his body taut with impending release, Perhaps even next month.

But that was for another time. Right now, this moment was ours - raw and unfettered - and as we crested together, I couldn't help but wonder at the twisted path that had led us here, to this incendiary point of no return.