St. Charles, Illinois, January 10th, 2026

After Fae had gone out Friday night, picked up by single Arwa with single Olivia and the married cheater Mia, her hot girlfriends, Dylan told himself he would feel OK about it. He even kept his promise to her not to call or text. That wasn’t easy for him.

He coped; a girls' night out, it's not so bad, every woman does it. Fae had never cheated, not to his knowledge anyway, and despite some suspicious incidents when they were dating, he never caught her in anything damning. Their marriage wasn't ideal, but it was far from bad, wasn't it? And wives don't cheat when they're happy at home, that's usually for wives whose husbands have cheated, or who've had too much distance or resentment build up in their relationship. Right?

But Mia. Bitch. She was a bad influence, Dylan felt. It was worse that Mia's husband had taken her back so quickly, like it hadn't happened; her indiscretion was swept under the rug for stability’s sake. Mia stood as a rotten example for Fae, a bad apple in the bushel, that a wife can cheat and still expect it to be smoothed over.

Dylan worried that with a few drinks and Mia in her ear, and enviously watching Arwa and Olivia pair up with men, and after so much time stuffed away with a baby having no fun, all it might take for Fae to stray would be a sufficiently handsome and persistent hook-up artist. St. Charles bars and clubs filled with exactly those guys each weekend, and they would see Fae in that damned red piece of nothing she wore. They would have to approach her. I mean, they would have to; that was a certainty.

And Dylan just had to trust her. He had to trust her to reject them. And he had to trust her, when she came home, whenever that was, that she didn't go anywhere with any man. And he would just have to trust that for how long... the rest of their lives?

The idea played in his mind like a pornographic movie, Fae in a hotel room getting it hard and wild, screaming from orgasm after orgasm, a big, muscular, chisel-faced man giving her the best fuck she's known. And then she would clean herself up, get her hair in order, do a little acting rehearsal, and come in the front door nonchalantly relating to Dylan how she had a nice night out with her girls. She would never need to tell him, and he’d have no witnesses on his side. It’d be a secret between Arwa, Olivia, and Mia. And in the near future, and for many years on, when Dylan met Fae’s trio of vipers here and there, they would look at him, knowing, remembering, poor unaware Dylan, they’d hiss and laugh to themselves, and take credit for getting well-behaved Fae out of the house for a much-needed dick appointment. Infuriating!

But Fae had told him not to text or call, made him swear it. But you know what? F Fae. Was Dylan an idiot? He thought. Any man with half a brain should be able to read between the lines and understand what was really happening. Whether she did the deed tonight or not, she was stepping over boundaries to see how far she could push him, to see how far she could poke before he'd man up and tell her no!

She would probably start making this night out with the whores a monthly thing! A slippery slope into total cuckery! Dylan fumed, alone on his sofa, not hearing a word of the CGI comic hero movie she had left on. He only saw his wife, Fae, getting talked up by a hot stranger and Mia repeatedly pushing them together. He could see Mia mouthing the words, “Go with him, Fae, go!”

Holy shit! Dylan could barely contain himself. Should he take their baby in the car seat and go driving through the cold night looking for Arwa's mini-SUV? Should he run into, whichever bar, club, or hotel he found the vehicle parked, with a cranky, diapered infant in his arms... "unhand my woman motherfucker!" or what? It was ridiculous. He was stuck at home, and whatever was going to happen was going to happen.

Dylan thought about texting her, but... he imagined precisely what that would do. Fae's phone would buzz, she'd take it out, and then those cunt friends she left with would tease her that Dylan is overly attached. Then they would start jabbing him, mocking him, how immature and beta to text pleading "where r u?" to your wife as a grown ass man, and all of that. It'd only increase the odds of Fae riding another dick. She'd maybe do it in part to prove she had no ball-and-chain, to her friends and to herself. Mia would tease Fae; she’d press Fae’s buttons as she knew how, “You’re such a proper wifey, Fae-fae. Is he GPS tracking you, too?” And then Fae would be socially obligated to up her body count to make a stupid point.

No, Dylan thought, he'd play it cool and show he was more confident and central, not a chasing, whimpering pet. That would demonstrate dominant husband energy, right? And it’d make him more attractive to Fae... right?

He tried a technique to reassure himself; he imagined the worst-case plausible scenario: Fae gets so drunk she can't turn down a reasonably attractive loser who climbs the looks scale by beer goggles. Fae goes with him and wakes up in the morning with a hazy half-memory of mediocre sex and turns over to find the dude had already split out the door. Fae would then come in the front door, having decided, because it wasn't meaningful or special sex anyway, to keep Dylan in blissful ignorance... offering a very detailed, convincing, innocent-sounding account of her night. With that extramarital itch scratched out of her system and found underwhelming, she would be unlikely to do it again. Would it suck that it happened at all? Sure. Would it be an execution? No.

Yet a deeper, possessive, jealous part of Dylan rejected even that. Fuck all that free modern woman stuff! He should have refused to let her go out! She's a mom now, she should be acting like it! He blamed himself for having been too accommodating and for having folded. He kicked himself for letting her run around town hungry for cock! Stupid!

Dylan stayed up this way, only able to take his mind off it briefly when their baby woke and cried. In her nursery, he took her from her crib, played with her, gave her a bottle full of milk, changed her diaper, watched her crawl around corner-to-corner, and then, without meaning to... Dylan fell asleep on the soft nursery floor mat at dawn. Fae still hadn't come home.

Dylan wasn't awake for it when she came in. He only woke because their baby had fallen back to sleep on his arm and it had lost circulation long enough to go numb. Gently, he lifted and removed their baby's head and lay it down, then shook his arm out until he regained sensation in his fingers.

Pure white winter daylight poured through the windows. He stood and looked down the stairway to the foyer and saw Fae's heels off at the door. She had come home. He came swiftly down the stairs to a quiet dining room, and then into the living room where the TV remained on mute, a commercial for weight loss medication. There she was, Fae in her long yellow nightshirt she’d often counted for pajamas, had passed out on the sofa.

Dylan came around the sofa and sat beside her, her bare feet poking out from her thready throw blanket, careful not to disturb. It was 11:14 am. He couldn't tell if she had gotten there 10 minutes ago or if it had been several hours. He looked over her face, and the makeup she had put on last night in her vanity mirror was erased. How pretty she was, how hungover she was likely to be, and he gently reprimanded himself that he had been so worried. Mentally, he consoled himself this; Fae wouldn't do anything, she hadn't done anything, she almost certainly just had drinks, laughs, and let herself unwind. Almost certainly.

And then he saw it, her phone face-down on the glass coffee table. His hand sprang for it before he could process a second thought. Turning it over and sitting back against the sofa to scry, the lock-screen appeared, a picture of Fae, Dylan, and their baby in a stroller at Lincoln Park Zoo last summer, pink flamingos all around. That vanished as the automatic face ID failed, and a prompt for her pass code was generated.

Dylan thought fast, he threw in their daughter's birth date, wrong. Then he threw in Fae's birth date, wrong. Then, aware the number of failed attempts would soon bar further attempts, something in him said "baby's birthday, but backward"... and he tapped it in. Open. He was on her home screen with all the many apps aligned in their rows and columns. He turned to see that she was still sleeping. Then he went for her texts.

What. The. Fuck? She had zero text messages. They had all been deleted, all of them. What about call history? All cleared. What about her email account? Logged out, and he couldn't begin to imagine her email password.

But what apps did she have installed? His heart thumped as he went snooping and then... Snatch! "Dylan!" Fae's hands came rocketing past his face and for the phone like a peregrine falcon stealing a pigeon midair. The device was back in her grip, and her face was red with rage. "Dylan, what are you doing!?"

Dylan flinched once at the jolt of her ripping her phone away, but then he just clammed up and sat quietly as she went into a tantrum, "That's my private space! Dylan? Why are you in my phone? You're completely violating my personal belongings and my stuff."

He let her see he wasn't going to argue. He'd seen enough to see nothing. She shoved her phone under her thigh and gently pushed his shoulder, "Dylan? Please don't go in my phone again."

Without warning, he ran his arm across their coffee table, sending remote controls, cup coasters, and a little novel off onto the hardwood living room floor, "All of your shit is deleted. Why?"

Wincing and furrowing her brow as though his question was scary but stupid, "For storage!"

Dylan sat silent, Fae repeated herself, “I have no phone storage. I delete everything weekly. But Dylan, that’s my business.”

At that, Dylan cracked, and before she could see him burst with sobbing, wobbly chin, meek-man facial contortions, he yanked a sofa cushion to hide his collapse behind. Muffled, "Bullshit. Storage? Bullshit."

Fae began massaging Dylan’s back and shoulders as he lay, moist-eyed, quietly calm, raging into his pillow, hiding his face. She slipped her fingers into his belt-line, under the elastic band of his briefs, and his hand shot back to remove hers, causing it to audibly snap, “Don’t touch me, please.”

She ignored his plea and began lifting his shirt up his back, running her nails gently over his skin, “I want you right now, Dylan.”

“I don’t want you now.” He said, turning over onto his back, staring wet-eyed into the ceiling, mouth falling open, “I don’t want you.”

Fae gave him a sad little grin, “We have always wanted each other, Dylan.” Her left hand pressed around his waist, her right hand came up along his hip, and she began to undo his pants. “I’m super horny. I was going to jump your stuff right when I came in, but you were so delightful dozing in the nursery, I couldn’t dare wake you.”

He swatted her hand away, “I’m not fucking.”

Immediately, her hands returned to his button and zipper, undoing them quickly, aggressively, “I need this, and you need this. Right now.”

Dylan’s body was so numb, and his mind so worn out from a night of wondering, he couldn’t summon the will to refuse. Instead, he let her tug his pants down and see neither his mind nor his body was wanting.

As she pulled his pants down, she found him flaccid. Pausing a moment to regard his disengaged organ, sympathy formed in her expression and voice, “Oh? Dylan? Do you really feel that badly about last night? You don’t have anything to feel bad about, though, depending on how you look at it.” She straddled his lap, the weight of her ass weighing on his thighs and knees, and she pulled her long yellow nightshirt off inside out over her head, her pale breasts bared to him.

He covered his face with his arm and his genitals with his opposite hand, “Fae, I’m very hurt. I can’t explain myself. But you can’t tell me what to feel.”

Looking down on his slumped over penis, her chin in her chest, she began plucking it up between her index and thumb tips, “You have such a… cute one, Dylan.”

He pressed her hands away from his privates, but it was useless; she kept at them, she kept poking, picking, and gently squeezing his parts until at last, “Hmmm. I see something.” And he could feel it swelling in her hand; tumescence.

Fae stood, nearly tripping backward over the coffee table, but not, and she shimmied out of her tight little gym shorts, kicked them off onto their floor with the coasters, remotes, and novel, and then squatted back down on Dylan’s bare lap.

As she began teasing the tip of his dick at her entrance, nudging her vaginal cleft apart, he objected, “No, I don’t want to be inside you after another man was inside you.”

Fae wet his penis between her labia and tried once more to insert, yet he pulled away, gyrating his pelvis back into the sofa in escape. “If another man was inside you, I can’t do it.”

She gave him a pouting face, then lowered her eyebrows, warning of her imminent anger, “Dylan, stop. We have to do this. Shhh.”

He watched the dark-black tuft of her pubic hair bobbing to and fro as she wiggled her hips over him, docking onto his dick, “No, not if another man was inside you,” he murmured.

Sliding his glans in, hot and wet, “If another dick was in my hole, then that’s when you really have to enter me.”

With such pleasure, he slid up and into her, “I hate it. I hate not knowing.”

Fae rolled her eyes to have him balls deep. She pressed and rubbed her clitoris into his pubic pad and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his right ear. She whispered, “I love you, Dylan.”

She secured him steady and rocked on him, sliding up-and-down onto his penis halfway, getting the angle so right. He couldn’t deny how inside of her he was now. “Did you meet another man, Fae?”

Fae leaned back, riding him, running her fingers in his hair, and looked him in his eyes, “Maybe I did, or maybe I didn’t. Either way, you have to accept it.”

“I don’t want to.” They conversed even as her ass gently bounced on his lap with a soft clap-clap.

“Stop it, Dylan. Just take me back.” She demanded, in a low, sexy voice.

“What do you mean, take you back?” He pried and pried.

“Just take me back. It’s the same anyway. Do I feel different to you?” she found his shirt line and pulled it up over his head.

With his shirt off and her hands kneading his deltoids, he focused on the sensation of her pussy after last night. But was it different? “No.”

Cocking an eyebrow and grinning, she said so smugly, “Then it’s the same.”

Dylan’s hands slid up her sides and found her breasts, pressing them, admiringly, “I can’t even resist you for a minute. What am I going to do?”

As if she had thought about it for a long time, she diagnosed, "This is such a you problem. Do you need me to say I did it so you can begin to get over your fear?"

"My fear?" his hands dropped to her smooth, thick thighs as they pressed back and forth.

Putting her little fingers to her reddened lips in thought, "You have... I don’t know what to call it. Cuckophobia?”

Dylan snortled pathetically at the invention, “Cucko- no. Fae, you don’t under..”

She needn’t hear his clarification or deflection, stroking his chin with her thumb and directing his gaze into hers, golden in the winter light, “And like any phobia, maybe the cure is exposure shock therapy. Like... showing you it can't really hurt you." Her voice carried a soft, sugary threat.

Dylan, so sweetly terrified, “I don’t want to be hurt. I’m not into being humiliated, Fae. I’m scared that something can happen that can’t be taken back. I’m scared that it already happened… and…”

Ignoring him, she demanded, "I want to know you will love me unconditionally, no matter what I do. It's so good to satisfy a craving without having to break or throw away anything between us."

With agony in his plea, “Fae, I don’t want you to go out again. Not like that.”

Her demeanor flipping like a switch, she gave his shoulder a light slap and flashed a stern, angry expression, "I can go out whenever I want, I don't need to ask you. And I don't need to tell you anything. In fact, I can go out tonight, Dylan. It's Saturday. There'll be a lot of hunks on the prowl. I can let a new lover take me several times per week, if that's what I want to do. Accept it. Tell me you know you have to accept it."

His cock swelled greater inside her, his corona ridge stroked against the ridges of her anterior wall so tightly it almost tickled, “No, babe. Don’t go out tonight. You were just out with your friends.”

"I can go out without them and make new friends. Accept it." She gave his shoulder another slap, this time harder.

“I don’t have to accept it.” He resisted, stopping himself from orgasming and grabbing her wrist to stop her from striking him again.

She insisted, "No, it isn't your choice. I’m an independent woman; I can make choices for myself with my body. Tell me you have to accept it."

He was overwhelmed with the sight of her abdominals flexing and rolling on him, her hot little slit of a navel, her slim, narrow waist, the slightest, thin-little caesarean scar that impregnating her had marked her by. Her pelvis with its iliac crests moved with such a dancer’s ease, it was too much, like her whole body was milking him. Surrendering now, "I just have to accept it? Is that it?"

Nodding, helping him along, "You just have to accept what?" she quizzed him.

He completed her thought, "I just have to accept you can go out and fuck whoever you want."

She clasped her hands together under her chin in glee, “Yes!” Her voice high and curious, "When, though?"

He finished her lesson for him for her, "Whenever you want, Fae."

Taking his face between her palms and gently pressing his cheeks together until his lips puckered, "That's right, honey. If I want to, that is, I definitely can." And she kissed him.

“I wish I knew how to tell you no.” he had never sounded so sincere, prayer-like.

She smirked and gave him a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth, "You're competing with someone to please me, to please my body, aren't you?"

Dylan packed a million thoughts into a single word, “Yes.”

Fae lay her head in the crook between his neck and shoulder, her long hair resting on his chest and arm as she rode him with a new angle, his cock now pressing her posterior vaginal wall, mashing her rectovaginal septum and giving her the sensation of a mass massaging the inside of her ass, "Do you think I'm comparing you to another man right now?"

The new angle almost caused him to cum, but he held it, “Mmmhm…”

Speaking breathy into his neck, "Oh? If what you hate so much about the idea of me cheating on you is that you'll be compared unfavorably to another man, that's a moot point."

"How?" his hands hovered over her ass cheeks. If he were to touch them even for a second, he would ejaculate for sure.

"I have exes, Dylan. I wasn't a virgin when we met, obviously. Every woman compares her husband to her exes." She spoke into his neck as she began to suck a hickey below his ramus, feeling his carotid pulse on her chin.

Naming the evil monster that ravaged his peace of mind, "Sexually? Um, you’ve compared me sexually?"

Answering in a low mumble, "Of course. It's just not polite to say so. And then what does it matter if the other man you're being compared to came before or after we fell in love?"

Somehow, her kiss on his neck made him brave enough to ask, "What do you compare me on?"

Slowly, she listed the facets, "Technique. And rhythm. And duration too. Talent, good habits, and bad. Smell or scent, because good pheromones can’t be compensated. Looks or physique; each man is built differently, and when the shirt comes off, it’s either, like, oh no or oh yes. Everything. Everything."

In the stress of performing now, Dylan became so self-conscious of his skills that cortisol shot through his veins, “Technique?”

“It’s such a disappointment when he doesn’t know how to use it, when he can’t keep a beat, when he doesn’t have good lick game. There should be a state-subsidized re-education program for hot dudes who can’t fuck, Dylan.” She said with exasperation. “It would be the best reform for women since vibrators were normalized.”

"And physique?" Dylan eyed his own bare arms and chest, regretting he hadn’t sculpted himself with more dedication.

"Oh, yes. Especially how a man's body feels, some are so hard and muscular, others so soft and cuddly, some are flexible in bed, others are stiff as boards, some are covered in body hair, others are as smooth as teenagers, some are built like teenagers, others are hulking, towering, fuck machines." She moaned. "And then there’s… no.”

Dylan’s hands dared to squeeze on her ass cheeks as they reverberated and rippled on his lap, “And then there’s what?”

She shook her head, dark bangs falling over her amber eyes, “No, I can’t say that.”

Dylan gripped her ass cheeks harder, “Tell me.”

"It's just better not to ask than get an answer you can't handle. And if nobody asks any questions, then nobody needs to tell any lies." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, not stopping in her up-down-up-down motions.

Dylan shook his head, watching her breasts jiggle hypnotically with her movements, “I want to know.”

She shrugged, “I don’t know. Are you trying to guess?”

He had to say it; this was the time to say it, “Size?”

Fae’s face turned red, and she hurried to cover her mouth as her lips came apart in an embarrassed, wide smile, “Dylan… hmm. I didn’t say it. You said it.”

He squeezed her around her waist, “But am I right?”

She gave a yes-no head motion, her elbows coming together as she rocked on him, “I don’t know, everyone says size doesn’t matter, right? I don’t know. What do you think?”

“You mean everything else matters but that?” he asked with skepticism in his voice.

She smiled, tilting her head and looking off, “Welll… It’s nice, the extra fullness, the stretching, the depth.”

Terrified she might say something injurious, but unable to leave it be, he had never asked before, "What about my size?”

She gave an adorable, smiling frown, "It's okay, Dylan."

Unsatisfied with her answer, he pressed harder, "Okay?"

"I don't want to lie." She shook her head and put her index finger to her lips, as if hushing herself to keep a rude secret from him.

He caressed her arm to coax it out of her, "Lie? Then tell the truth."

"The truth? Don’t be upset.” And she tipped from reluctance to commitment, she’d let him know this one.

Dylan couldn’t speak; his chest tightened in dread. She leaned back, firmly pressed to his lap, skin sticking to skin, looked down at their conjoined groins, and touched the soft, pale place below her navel, “I need you deeper, it's almost there, but not deep enough. It would feel so good if you could go deeper." And then, as if her words were not the last thing she should have said, as if it was a mere fact, she ground herself against him as hard as she could, mashing her clitoris into him and getting him as far into her as he could go.

She moaned, “Oh!” and then, rolling her eyes, declared, "That’s almost there.”

Dylan lay his head back on the back of the sofa, stared at the ceiling, and did his best to absorb the blow to his ego, this emasculating revelation. He massaged the mounds of her hips, “Was he bigger than me?”

Gently beginning to bounce on him again, she sounded obtuse, "Was who bigger than you?"

Quietly, he stuttered, barely able to say the words, “The… the man you had sex with last night.”

“Dylan! Please don’t ask about last night. I’m not going to tell you again.” She begged in whimpers as she came down harder and faster on his lap, clap-clap-clap! “Please! Please! Please!”

And then he saw it, though he himself hadn't ejaculated... from the seal of her labia against the shaft of his dick out ran down a thick line of clear-white cum. Was it her? Was she so creamy? But it wasn't foamy or frothy, as feminine lubricant was. It was viscous, sticky, masculine, and even as she bounced on him, he watched this slick mass of white slide down the side of his penis and slip to the base of his scrotum before running out of sight. Was that... another man's jizz that he'd just fucked out of her? No. It was, wasn't it? No. Yes, it was. It couldn’t be!

Her voice raspy and approaching her own climax broke him from his mental spiral, “Dylan?!”

“Fae?” He grunted out, dropping his forehead to her chest, her chin on top of his head, watching down her heaving cleavage as her pace quickened.

“You were so good for me. So obedient and trusting. Naive. You didn’t call or text one time! You were so good for me. You let me go. You let go of me! Thank you for letting go of me last night!” Her eyes and jaw clenched shut, she spoke through her bared teeth, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” and kissed the top of his head manically, “Dylan, Dylan!”

He threw his arms around her sweaty waist, embraced her tight, her white breasts pressed into his face, and he bounced her harder. Then, sustaining the vibrations and gasps of her body pounding into his, he couldn't contain it; his orgasm hit so quickly and powerfully, and he filled her in moaning wave after wave, his balls emptying through his urethra in gushing pulses upward out his dickhole and into her cervix. Her bare neck and clavicles, he kissed madly, sucking on her shoulder, he released, panting now, he promised, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Fae ran her fingers through his hair and regarded his face before looking him in his eyes, pausing, and then standing, legs splayed open. His cum, someone's cum, came dripping out onto their hardwood floor. She clasped her palm to her groin, stopping any more from spilling, and walked off naked. In a moment, he heard the bathwater running. He remained on the sofa, his genitals glistening and reddened, semi-engorged on his thigh. The question bore itself in his mind; “She’s going to want to go out, more girls’ nights, she will. Do I want her to?” Behind the question began to surface the answer, but he suppressed it, or he tried, “Yes.”