Jason and Sarah pressed into the surging crowd at the outdoor amphitheater, the bassline from the stage already thrumming through their bodies. Sarah looked incredible tonight, and Jason still couldn’t believe she’d dressed like this for him: a tiny black skirt that barely skimmed the lace tops of her thigh-high stockings, glossy black heels that made her legs look endless, and a white button-down blouse tied just beneath her breasts, leaving a strip of toned midriff exposed. Every guy they passed did a double-take, and Jason felt that familiar cocktail of pride and nervous heat.

They found a spot near the front of the general-admission pit, bodies packed tight. The lights dropped, the band ripped into their first song, and the crowd surged forward as one. Sarah laughed and threw her arms up, singing along, her hips already swaying.

That’s when Jason felt the shift behind her.

A tall guy, he had to be six-four, maybe forty-five years old with broad shoulders, had wedged himself directly behind Sarah. At first it was just the press of the crowd, nothing unusual. Then Jason saw the man’s hips settle deliberately against Sarah’s ass, slow and unapologetic. The guy’s hands hovered at his sides, not grabbing, but he wasn’t leaving any space either. With every beat, he rolled forward, the bulge in his jeans dragging firmly up the back of Sarah’s tiny skirt.

Sarah’s eyes snapped open. She glanced over her shoulder, then whipped her head toward Jason, wide and startled. Jason met her gaze, his heart suddenly hammering louder than the drums on stage. He could see everything: the stranger’s crotch pressed right against his wife’s ass, the way Sarah’s skirt had ridden up just enough to show off the lacy tops of her stockings.

Jason should have said something, done something. But the crowd was a living thing, shoving from every side. If he made a scene, they’d lose their spot—or worse. And Sarah… Sarah wasn’t pulling away. Her lips parted, just a little, and her eyes stayed locked on Jason’s, a question flickering in them.

The stranger ground harder on the next downbeat, slow and deliberate, letting Sarah feel exactly how hard he was. Jason watched his wife’s cheeks flush crimson, her breath catching. Thirty seconds. A minute. The song kept building and the man kept moving, shameless, like he owned the space behind her.

Then the track ended, the crowd roared, and just like that the guy melted back into the sea of bodies, gone.

Sarah spun around immediately, pressing close to Jason so she could be heard over the noise.

“Oh my God,” she half-laughed, half-whispered, her face still flushed. “Did you… did you see that?”

Jason swallowed hard. “Yeah. I saw.”

She searched his eyes, nervous. “Are you mad?”

He should have been. Part of him was. But the rest of him was buzzing, cock straining against his jeans in a way that made no sense and perfect sense all at once.

“No,” he heard himself say. “It’s… packed in here. Couldn’t really do anything about it, right?”

Sarah bit her lip, relief and something darker flashing across her face. “Right. Just… an accident. Crowded space. That’s all.”

She turned back toward the stage, but stayed closer to Jason now, her back almost—but not quite—touching his chest. The next song started heavier, dirtier. Sarah started moving again, her ass brushing Jason’s thigh with every sway.

After a minute she leaned back, her lips near his ear. “He was really hard, Jason.”

Jason’s breath hitched. “I know.”

“I could feel it the whole time,” she murmured, barely audible over the music. “Every inch.”

His hand found her hip without thinking, fingers digging in. “You okay?”

She tilted her head so her cheek grazed his. “I’m so wet right now it’s embarrassing.”

The words detonated inside him. Jason glanced around—no one was paying attention, everyone lost in the show—and slid his hand lower, under the hem of her skirt. His fingers met slick, bare thigh above the stocking, then the soaked panel of her thong.

“Jesus, Sarah…”

She pushed back against his hand, just once, then pulled away with a shaky laugh. “I told you,” she whispered playfully.

Sarah’s fingers found the front of Jason’s jeans before he could even process it, tracing the rigid line straining against the denim. She squeezed once, slow and deliberate, then let out a low, wicked laugh right against his ear.

“Someone liked watching that,” she teased, voice husky with the music and something filthier. “You’re practically bursting, baby.”

Jason’s face burned. He tried to laugh it off, but it came out strangled. “I—yeah. Guess I did.”

She grinned, triumphant and turned on, stroking him through the fabric with the heel of her palm while they swayed. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m not even close to being done feeling naughty tonight.”

The next song dropped, heavier, darker, and the crowd lurched like a single animal. A wave of bodies shoved between them, sudden and unstoppable. Jason reached for her, but fingers only brushed air. In half a second Sarah was three feet away, then five, swallowed by the crush.

And then Jason saw him. His black t-shirt stretched across that wide chest, sliding effortlessly into the space behind Sarah like he’d been waiting for it. At first it was just a bump, an “accidental” roll of hips as the beat hit. Sarah glanced back, startled, then realized who it was. Her eyes flicked to Jason across the gap, wide for a heartbeat filled with panic, but Jason was already nodding, barely perceptible. Keep going. I’m right here.

The man didn’t waste time.

Another bump, longer this time, his denim-clad cock dragging up the back of her skirt. Sarah’s lips parted. She didn’t move away. Instead, almost like her body decided before her brain caught up, she pressed back, just a little, letting the hard length settle between her cheeks through the thin fabric.

The guy’s hands hovered, testing. Sarah answered by rolling her hips in a slow circle, the kind of move she usually saved for Jason in their bedroom. A low growl rumbled against her ear; she felt it more than heard it. Then those big hands finally landed, thumbs hooking just above her hipbones, fingers splayed possessively over the front of her skirt.

They started dancing, really dancing. His grip guided her, pulling her ass flush against him on every downbeat. Sarah’s head tipped back against his chest, eyes half-lidded, lost in the rhythm and the thick ridge grinding shamelessly against her. She gave another playful wiggle, teasing, daring him. He answered by sliding one hand lower, cupping the curve where thigh met ass, dangerously close to bare skin.

Across the churning sea of bodies, Jason couldn’t look away.

Sarah’s eyes found his through the strobe-lit haze. She bit her lip, half-worried, half-wild, and when she saw the unmistakable bulge he was failing to hide, that wicked little smile curved across her mouth. Jason’s stomach flipped. He managed a tight nod as if to say I’m here, it’s okay. But the nod felt like a lie the second he gave it.

Because nothing about this was okay.

Another man’s hands were on his wife. Big, rough hands that didn’t belong to him, sliding over the skirt he’d zipped her into just hours ago, pulling her hips back against a cock that definitely wasn’t his. Jason’s own erection throbbed, traitorous and painful, but right alongside the heat was a cold twist of panic he hadn’t expected.

What the hell am I doing?

They’d never talked about this, never even joked about it beyond dumb late-night porn they both laughed off the next morning. Sarah was his. The girl who still blushed when he kissed her in front of their friends. The woman who wore his ring and fell asleep on his chest every night. And now she was grinding her ass in slow, hungry circles against some stranger like she’d done it a hundred times, like Jason was just another face in the crowd.

His chest felt suddenly too small. The music was too loud, the lights too bright. He pressed his palm harder against the front of his jeans, half trying to hide how hard he was, half chasing the ache because if he came right there it might mean he actually wanted this.

Did he want this?

Sarah arched her back deeper, head tipping against the guy’s shoulder, and the stranger’s hand slid lower, thumb tracing the lace band of her stocking, inching toward skin Jason had always thought of as his alone. Sarah’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, leaving her in pure pleasure, then snapped open again, locking on Jason like she needed to check he was still watching.

He was. God help him, he couldn’t stop watching.

Jealousy clawed up his throat, hot and sour. He pictured shoving through the crowd, yanking her away, telling the guy to get his fucking hands off my wife. He pictured Sarah’s face crumpling, the night ruined, the unspoken thing between them shattered forever.

Or he pictured doing nothing. Letting it happen. Letting her feel that stranger’s cock drag against her one more time, two more, until she came right there in the middle of a thousand people with Jason’s permission burning in her eyes.

His breath shook. He nodded again, weaker this time, and hated how easily the permission came.

Sarah saw it. Her smile softened (not triumphant now, almost grateful), and she pushed back harder, deliberately, claiming every thick inch through their clothes while she stared straight at her husband. The lights strobed blood-red across her face and Jason felt the moment tilt, felt something inside him crack open and spill out.

He was terrified.

He was harder than he’d ever been in his life.

And he didn’t move an inch to stop it.

The stranger’s hands moved like he already owned her.

One thick arm locked around Sarah’s waist, pulling her back flush against his chest, while the other slid upward, slow and certain. His palm covered her left breast through the thin white blouse, fingers spreading wide, claiming. Sarah’s breath caught hard; she felt the heat of his hand burn straight through the fabric, felt her nipple stiffen instantly against his grip. He squeezed, not gently, testing how much she’d let him take. She let him take everything.

Buttons popped one by one. Soft, deliberate sounds lost under the roaring guitars. Cool night air kissed the newly exposed skin between her breasts, then the lace edge of her black bra. Sarah’s eyes fluttered shut. She wasn’t looking for Jason anymore. The crowd, the music, her husband; everything narrowed to the rough hands stripping her open in public.

The stranger tugged the blouse wider, letting it hang loose off her shoulders. Then his hand slipped inside the cup of her bra, shoving the lace down until her breast spilled free, bare and flushed under the strobing lights. His fingers found her nipple, rolled it hard between calloused thumb and forefinger, and Sarah’s head fell back against his shoulder with a broken moan no one could hear but him.

Jason saw it all.

Ten feet away, frozen, heart slamming against his ribs. He watched a stranger’s hand knead his wife’s naked breast like it belonged to him. Watched her back arch, pushing herself deeper into that grip. The red and violet lights painted her skin in flashes: pale curve of breast, dark fingers pinching, the glint of her wedding ring as her own hand came up to clutch the man’s forearm, not to stop him, but to keep him there.

The man’s other hand dropped lower.

It disappeared under the hem of her tiny skirt, sliding between her thighs without hesitation. Sarah’s legs parted on instinct, heels scraping the ground as she widened her stance for him. Jason couldn’t see exactly where those fingers went, but he saw the moment they found her; Sarah’s mouth opened in a silent cry, hips jerking forward once, then settling back to grind against both the hand under her skirt and the rigid cock behind her.

She was soaked. She could feel it, slick coating the stranger’s fingers as they shoved her thong aside and sank into her without asking. Two thick digits, curling deep, pumping in slow, filthy strokes that matched the bassline. Her clit throbbed under the heel of his hand, swollen and desperate. Every nerve in her body lit up at once, shame and pleasure braided so tight she couldn’t tell them apart anymore.

She didn’t care who might see. She didn’t care that Jason was watching her come undone for another man. She only cared about the hand inside her blouse twisting her nipple until it hurt perfectly, and the fingers fucking her under her skirt while a stranger’s cock promised more.

Sarah let go completely. Her body moved on its own now, riding his hand, chasing the edge he was dragging her toward right there in the middle of the crowd. Her eyes stayed shut, lashes wet, lips parted on gasps no one would ever hear over the music.

And Jason stood rooted, cock aching, stomach in knots, watching the stranger take everything he’d never known he could give away.

The stranger’s fingers drove into her steadily, thick and relentless, curling just right inside her dripping pussy. Sarah’s entire body trembled on the edge. A frantic voice in her head screamed that this had gone too far, that Jason was right there, that she still had time to pull away before she shattered in another man’s hand. She tried to summon the will to stop. She couldn’t. The pleasure was too sharp, too greedy. Her hips rolled forward on their own, fucking herself deeper onto those invading fingers while her mind surrendered with a helpless, exhilarated whimper: I belong to him right now.

Across the narrow gap, Jason saw the exact moment his wife gave up.

Sarah’s eyes squeezed shut, her mouth fell open, and every line of her body announced what was happening. He took one involuntary step forward, some ancient instinct roaring at him to drag her away, to reclaim what was his. Then he saw how violently she was coming with her back bowed, thighs shaking, skirt rucked high enough that flashes of the man’s wrist disappearing between her legs were visible in the strobing light and the instinct collapsed. She was radiant in her ruin, shameless and lost, and Jason understood with sickening clarity that he had no power here. None. She was choosing this, choosing that stranger’s fingers over her husband’s pride, and the realization punched the air from his lungs and sent a fresh surge of blood to his aching cock. He stayed rooted, palms pressed to his thighs, unable to look away from the man claiming his wife in front of a thousand oblivious people.

Sarah’s climax tore through her. She threw her head back hard against the stranger’s shoulder, spine arching like a drawn bow. Her bare breasts jutted forward, nipples still hard from his attention, on full display under the wild lights. She ground her ass desperately against the rigid length trapped behind her, riding the aftershocks while her pussy clenched and fluttered around the fingers still buried deep.

When the tremors finally slowed, the stranger withdrew his hand from under her skirt, slick fingers trailing deliberately up her thigh so Jason could see the shine of her in the colored glow. Sarah turned her face to him, eyes glassy, lips swollen. The man didn’t ask. He simply took her mouth in a slow, filthy kiss, tongue sliding in like he’d earned the right. Sarah melted into it instantly, kissing him back with raw hunger, one hand sliding into the man’s hair while the other clutched his shirt. Their bodies stayed fused, her exposed breasts pressed to his chest, his wet fingers smearing across the small of her back.

Jason watched his wife kiss another man like she was starving for him, watched her tongue meet his without hesitation, and felt the last illusion of control slip away. His cock throbbed so hard it hurt, and his heart felt strangely light, almost weightless, as if something inside him had finally admitted the truth: he wanted this to happen as badly as she did.

The stranger broke the kiss and leaned in, lips brushing Sarah’s ear. Whatever he said was short and filthy; Jason saw it in the way her eyes widened and then hooded with pure lust. She nodded once, eager, almost trembling.

She stepped back half a pace, just enough room to work. Her manicured fingers found his zipper and dragged it down. The crowd pulsed around them, oblivious. She reached inside and freed him.

Jason’s stomach dropped.

The cock that sprang out was massive, thick, heavy, easily twice his own girth and longer than anything Sarah had ever taken. Sarah stared at it like she’d been handed a new religion, lips parted in shock and hunger. Her small hands wrapped around the shaft, barely meeting, stroking once, twice, reverently.

The man threaded fingers through her hair and pressed down. Sarah sank to her knees without hesitation, skirt riding high on her thighs, blouse hanging open. She looked up at him once, eyes shining, then took the swollen head into her mouth. Jason watched his wife worship a stranger’s cock in the middle of a roaring concert crowd: lips stretched wide, cheeks hollowing, saliva glistening as she worked more and more of that monstrous length down her throat with wet, greedy sounds drowned out by the music.

Minutes blurred. When the man finally decided she’d earned it, he hauled her up by the hair, spun her to face away from him, and flipped her tiny skirt up over her ass. One rough yank and her soaked thong slid down her thighs, catching briefly on her heels before dropping to the trampled ground.

Sarah’s bare pussy gleamed under the strobing lights, swollen, dripping, shamelessly exposed. Jason stared at his wife’s most private place offered up to another man and felt the world tilt.

The stranger kicked her feet wider, lined that brutal cock up with her entrance, and drove forward in one slow, merciless thrust.

Sarah’s face transformed: eyes flying wide, mouth open in a silent scream as she was split open and filled deeper than Jason had ever managed. Her back bowed, hands scrabbling for balance against the stranger’s thighs. The man gave her three heartbeats to adjust, then gripped her hips and started fucking her raw.

Sarah met every thrust, slamming herself back onto him with wild, animal abandon. Her breasts bounced free with every impact, nipples hard as diamonds. She no longer cared who might see. She was lost, claimed, utterly owned by the cock stretching her wide and the man wielding it.

Jason stood frozen ten feet away, watching his beautiful wife get thoroughly, publicly fucked by a stranger twice his size, and the only thing louder than the music was the pounding in his own ears as he realized he would never be enough for her again.

Sarah turned her head, hair sticking to her sweat-slick cheek, and found Jason through the crush of bodies. Her mouth hung open, eyes glassy and wild as the stranger pounded into her from behind. Each brutal thrust rocked her forward, breasts swaying, skirt bunched uselessly around her waist. Their gazes locked.

The man behind her suddenly buried himself to the hilt and held her there, hips flush against her ass, cock pulsing deep inside her. Sarah’s eyes widened further, a shocked, blissful smile flickering across her lips. Jason knew exactly what was happening: another man was flooding his wife, claiming her in the most primal way possible while she stared straight at her husband.

Her own orgasm followed seconds later. Sarah’s whole body seized, back arching impossibly as her stretched pussy clamped down, milking every drop from the cock that owned her tonight. A silent cry shaped her mouth, meant only for Jason.

When it passed, the stranger eased out slowly, tucked himself away, and zipped up like nothing had happened. Jason waited for him to vanish into the crowd, to give Sarah back.

He didn’t.

Instead he pulled her close, one arm possessive around her waist, her open blouse flapping, breasts still bare, panties lost somewhere underfoot. They swayed together to the next song like teenagers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He kissed her slow and deep, fingers tracing the curve of her ass, her throat, the slope of a breast. Sarah melted into him, giggling against his mouth, whispering things that made him grin and kiss her harder. Jason stood ten feet away, invisible, watching the man touch his wife wherever he wanted for the rest of the show.

When the final encore ended and the house lights came up, Sarah pressed one last lingering kiss to the stranger’s lips, then walked toward Jason on shaky legs, skirt barely covering anything, face glowing.

She stopped in front of him, eyes bright, chest still heaving.

“Oh my god, Jason,” she breathed, voice hoarse and thrilled. “That was amazing. I am so fucking horny right now. Take me home.”

Jason looked at her, his beautiful wife, marked and claimed and radiant, and felt the future shift forever beneath his feet.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

She rose on her toes, kissed him softly, tasting like someone else.

“I love you too.”