Chapter 18

Kate slept upstairs while Michael tiptoed through the kitchen. It was dark except for the harsh glow of the microwave clock, which read 3:12. He cracked open the refrigerator door and squinted into the white light. He wasn't hungry, not really. He just couldn't sleep and was tired of lying in bed trying to force himself.

Michael couldn't shake the image of Kate's body tensing in the dark, the way her breath had caught as she came in her sleep. He hadn't asked what she was dreaming about, but he didn't need to. He knew it was Victor.

He pried the oversized pizza box open just enough to pull a slice through. He bit into the cold triangle and clamped down, freeing his hands to grab a can of soda and a small plate. As he kicked the refrigerator door closed, his bite tore through the slice, and it began to break free. He scurried to the table to set down the soda and plate, and catch the pizza—but the plate tipped off the edge and hit the floor, shattering with a sharp crash.

Michael froze, pizza in hand, and listened for movement upstairs, but all was quiet. Relieved, he carefully fetched another plate and placed the slice on it before grabbing the broom.

He slowly swept the ceramic shards into a dustpan, being careful not to make too much noise. Just then, the kitchen light flipped on. He jerked his head to see Kate standing there with her hand on the switch and a concerned look on her face.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Everything's alright," he responded, "I just dropped a plate." He went back to sweeping up the pieces—this time, with less concern for the noise it made. "Sorry about that. Go on back to bed."

Kate grabbed the trash bin and walked it over to Michael. She took the dustpan and dropped into a wide crouch to hold it steady for him. This made her robe part, exposing a glimpse of pubic hair where her lips pressed open from the squat.

Michael froze mid-sweep. His eyes lingered, his pulse quickened, and his penis began to stiffen beneath the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms.

Kate looked up and caught him staring. Her eyes followed his gaze, then settled on the small tent forming between his legs.

Realizing what had his attention, she said, "Oh my god," half amused, half annoyed. "Does everything turn you on?"

That jolted him out of his trance. He went back to sweeping and muttered, "Not everything."

"Are you sure about that?" Kate shot back, sounding a little irritated. 

She straightened slightly, her voice taking on an edge. "Your penis gets hard when you see me naked. It apparently gets hard when you see Victor's cock. Hell, it gets hard when you cry in my arms because he makes you wear a leotard."

She paused, and her eyes drifted a moment as something else came to mind. Then she looked back at him and said, "I'd even bet your penis got hard last night when you saw all those naked Black men with their big cocks swinging everywhere, didn't it?"

Michael didn't answer. He just stood, paralyzed. He could only feel the twisting of his stomach and the cold, wet spot of his pajamas where his penis leaked.

They really did need to discuss what happened at the Echelon house, and Kate knew it. However, she hadn't anticipated the conversation starting this way. It wasn't ideal, but she went with it, anyway.

"I bet you were disappointed when Ava pulled us out of there, weren't you?" she asked rhetorically. "I bet you wanted to see what would happen if we stayed. Did you want us to be one of those couples we saw on the monitors?"

Michael's face was flushed, and his eyes were wide. The insinuating questions may have mortified him if he wasn't so turned on by them. 

"Did you want to be one of those husbands we saw, sitting in the corner masturbating while watching his wife getting fucked by one of those—one of those...," she trailed off and looked down as she tried to find a word to reference the Black men wearing nothing but dress jackets and ties they saw the night before.

"Bulls," Michael said, putting the word out there for her to grab.

Kate looked up at him.

"Bulls," he repeated. "They're called bulls."

That stopped Kate's rant. She looked back down at the dustpan and focused again on helping him sweep up the broken dish. 

When they finished cleaning, they sat across from each other at the table. Kate propped her elbows up on the surface and rested her chin on her folded hands. She studied him for a long moment while he took a bite of pizza, and then said, "Bulls, huh."

Michael set the crust of his pizza aside, wiped his hands, and leaned forward. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. What he was about to say dissolved in his throat. He shook his head, leaned back, and let his hands fall into his lap.

Then he started again, "Do you remember..." And then he paused, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

When he opened them, he sat up straighter and started over, his tone more deliberate. "Do you remember…" He stopped again, words failing him. He wasn't sure how to ask.

"Do I remember what?" Kate implored.

"Ahem," Michael said, clearing his throat— not because he needed to, but to buy himself another second. Drops of sweat began forming on his brow.

Gathering what courage he had left, Michael finally blurted, "Years ago, I asked you if you thought my penis was small. Do you remember that?"

Kate didn't hesitate. "Yes," she answered quickly, and then added, "and I told you that size doesn't matter, because it doesn't."

"Right," he murmured, and then lowered his eyes to his lap. "Well," he began again, only slower this time, "I started looking things up on the internet about size and all."

Kate looked puzzled.

"And I discovered that my penis is well below average in length," he said flatly.

"Michael, I don't even think about si—"

"And girth," he interrupted, talking over her as if she had not even spoken.

Kate blinked, uncertain where this was headed. "Okaaay," she said, stretching the word.

"So you agree," he pressed. "You think my penis is below average."

Kate exhaled softly. "I guess," she bemused, "Michael, I don't—"

"Well, it is little," he said, cutting her off, "and I started researching how couples deal with that, and that's how I discovered cuckolding. That's how I know about bulls."

Kate sat back slightly, trying to process what she was hearing. She'd been telling the truth—she hadn't cared much about size. But after feeling Victor press against her, after seeing all those big cocks at Echelon, that conviction no longer felt as solid as it once had.

Michael didn't notice her hesitation. Now that the words had started, he couldn't stop them. 

"Well, the more I researched, the more it turned me on," he confessed. "I started fantasizing about you and a bull," he continued, "I mean you with a bull—fucking a bull," he said, hemorrhaging mini revelations. "With a big cock," he added, "much bigger than mine." 

Kate blinked, caught somewhere between shock, curiosity, and a dawning sense of realization.

He continued, "Then I discovered interracial cuckolding, and it became apparent that Black bulls are very popular."

Then a thought struck her, and she had to know.

"Oh my god! Did you—" Kate accused abruptly.

"No!" Michael said insistently. "I had nothing to do with Echelon, Victor, or any of it," he assured her. "That was a lucky—that was a coincidence," he said with a shaky smile, but Kate didn't smile back.

"I mean to say," he explained, backpedaling a bit, "it was only a fantasy for me. Something that I masturbated to—I never meant for you to find out, and it was never something I even contemplated becoming reality."

"But here we are," she said quietly. It wasn't an allegation. It was more of an acknowledgment.

"Yeah," he agreed. His voice was small now. The confessional floodgates had closed.

Michael felt different—excited, mixed with a little sick. He could not believe he'd just revealed his desire to be a cuckold to Kate. His stomach churned, but his penis still pushed hard against his pajama fabric.

Kate sat still, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She wanted to say something, anything that would pacify Michael's trepidation—anything that could fill the void of silence between them, but nothing came to mind.

Michael's confession had left her disoriented. They'd been through a lot over the last few weeks, but that was all orchestrated by Victor.

This revelation changed everything. It was no longer some sexy stranger trying to get into her panties—now it was her husband's idea. Now it was something she couldn't just walk away from or pretend never happened. 

For the first time, she felt pulled in two directions at once—Victor's confident allure tugging her forward, and Michael's hidden desire pushing from behind. The space between them was closing in, and she was caught right in the middle.

When she really considered what it would be like to fuck another man, she wasn't disgusted by the idea—that's what surprised her most. She was frightened by it. Frightened by how it would change their marriage. Frightened by how quickly and easily their path led them here. Frightened by how much she hadn't known about her own husband.

He was right—she did think his dick was small. She didn't realize how small it was until recently, and she hadn't really thought it mattered. She'd never been able to orgasm from intercourse anyway, so what difference did it make, as long as his mouth could make her come? She'd never told him, of course—you don't tell a man that. You never tell a man his dick is too small. Their egos can't take it.

She looked at Michael, who was looking away, and she could see how hard this had been for him. She'd noticed the way his hands shook when he was spilling his inner self. His jaw trembled and his voice cracked with every word. He was terrified—and brave. 

Kate swallowed hard, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to reconcile what it meant for him, for her, for them.

This man sitting across from her was the love of her life. Sure, they fought sometimes. Sure, he drove her crazy, and she didn't understand why he did things he did, but she loved him. She raised children with him. They had shared a life together for decades. And he just told her he wanted to watch her fuck someone else.

It was absurd—and heartbreakingly honest.

Kate drew a slow breath.

"What do we do now?" she asked softly.

"I don't know," he answered, honestly, "Maybe we don't decide anything yet. Maybe we just wait to see how we feel after we've slept on it. Maybe we wait a few days, or maybe we wait for a sign or something."

"A sign?" Kate asked, almost rhetorically, with a little laugh to lighten the mood.

"I don't fucking know," Michael admitted, smiling as they got up from the table. "I'm just saying, let's see what happens."

Kate was disappointed. She wanted to resolve this tonight. She wanted to know if they were going to venture forward into this crazy lifestyle or walk away. She pretended she wasn't sure, but deep down she knew she wanted it. She moved over to Michael and put her arms around his waist. 

"I love you, you know," she said and kissed him lightly on the lips. Then she turned toward the stairs and added, "even if you do want to watch me get split in half by a giant cock."

Michael coughed a little laugh, but felt his still hard penis pulse at the words.

Kate dragged her finger over the light switch, flipping it off — but then paused. Through the window, the yard was still glowing. The floodlights were spilling bright light over the grass.

"The floodlights are on," she said, flipping the kitchen light switch back on, "I'll get them."

Michael nodded and headed upstairs.

Kate crossed the foyer to the front door when she saw it. The corner of a linen envelope peeked out of the mail slot. She grabbed the corner and pulled it through. She read the front. In perfectly written black script, it read:

Kate Delaney

No address. No return info.

She turned it over in her hand and saw the familiar stamp in red wax. Her pulse quickened. Excited, she debated whether to open it there or wait and open it in front of Michael. She opted for the latter.

Kate flipped off the floodlights, skipped across the foyer, and up the stairs, slapping the kitchen light switch off before she strode up them. She'd just experienced this tumultuous revelation from her husband, and now she was giddy as a schoolgirl.

She marched into the bathroom where Michael was brushing his teeth, slapped the Echelon envelope in front of him, saying, "You wanted a sign."

Chapter 19

Michael stared down at the envelope, with his toothbrush still in his mouth, but he was no longer brushing. 

"When you said you wanted a sign," Kate began, "did you already know this was in the mail slot?"

"Mm-mm," Michael hummed, shaking his head quickly. Then he spat so he could talk, "Had no idea. What does it say?"

"I don't know," Kate replied, her tone half playful, half anxious. "I haven't opened it yet."

"You going to open it?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the towel.

Kate swiped her finger across its back, breaking the wax seal, and pulled out the note. She read it aloud.

Kate,

Dinner tonight. 7 p.m.

I'll pick you up.

Dress to impress.

—Victor

Her lips tightened. She reread the note silently. Then again.

Michael leaned forward, bracing both palms against the counter. His reaction surprised him. He'd dreamed of this moment for years. He'd fantasized and masturbated many times to scenarios much like this one, but now that it had arrived—now that it was real—he was anxious.

He looked at his reflection, and he'd gone pale. He rocked on his hands and lowered his head, looking down at the porcelain sink, and said, "Sooo...tonight, huh?"

Kate nodded, "Apparently."

All the confidence Kate once had was drained from her. Gone were the forces that drove her to coerce Michael to meet with Victor, to dominate him in bed, to push him to go to the Echelon house. In its place stood something fragile. She looked at him in the mirror, her voice small. "What do I do?"

Michael met her eyes in the mirror. She looked terrified. "That depends," he said in a low voice, "What do you want?"

Kate tried to calm herself. Her emotions were out of control. In just a few minutes, she'd bounced between fear, excitement, concern, vulnerability, and arousal. 

She stared at the letter in her hand. "I don't even know what I want," she said softly. "Part of me wants to tear this up and pretend it never happened. Another part…" she trailed off, her throat tightening.

"Another part?" Michael prompted.

"Another part wants to know." Her voice cracked slightly, "to know how it feels to be desired like that. To be controlled like that. To be commanded."

His breath caught. For a long moment, neither one of them spoke, but in the silence, Michael could feel a rush building inside of him. He felt the years of fantasies well up and intoxicate his mind. He pulled his hips away from the counter as his penis began to swell.

Kate watched his transformation happen before her eyes, and a surge of dominance overpowered all her other emotions. 

"Did that make your penis hard?" she sneered.

When Michael didn't respond, Kate reached over and grabbed his front, confirming it.

She pulled him to her by his penis and kissed him hard on the mouth. 

She broke the kiss and looked up at him and whispered, "I do love you, Michael. I think I want to do this thing. I think I want him to fuck me, but I won't do it. I won't do it unless you want it too."

Kate paused for a moment and then asked him, "Do you want it, too?"

Michael blanched. Her rollercoaster of emotions was hard to follow, but he instinctively knew this was the moment. This was the decision, and it was his to make. All the years he'd fantasized about becoming her cuckold, and now he was presented with the option. He was going to take it.

Michael looked down at his wife and nodded.

"Okay, then," Kate whispered. The surge subsided, and a calm washed over her. She placed her palm against his chest, feeling the quick, nervous rhythm of his heart beneath her hand.

"Let's go back to bed."

Michael nodded. They walked in silence, leaving the letter lying open on the counter. It would be there in the morning to remind them of what was coming.

Chapter 20

Michael awoke from the best dream. He couldn't remember anything about it except that it turned him on and his dick felt really good. That's when he saw her—well he saw the back of her head, anyway. Kate's head was bouncing up and down while she sucked him. 

Kate had never woken Michael with a blowjob before. This was another in a flurry of firsts he'd experienced since her retirement a few short weeks ago. 

Kate had joined a gym. It was called Echelon, and everything about it had changed her.

At first, it was subtle—the way she carried herself, the way she looked at him when he spoke, the way she didn't always answer. Then it became more obvious: the late evenings, the new clothes, the spark in her eyes when she checked her reflection before leaving the house.

And now this—her lips sliding down his shaft, slow and deliberate—testing her power and his limits. 

Michael arched slightly as she took his entire penis into her mouth with each stroke. She didn't use her hands—she didn't need to. He noticed this, and it made his penis feel small. He wanted to ask her again, but he was afraid she'd stop.

She raked her nails up his thighs and along his chest as she increased the tempo at which she bobbed her head. At this rate, he wouldn't last long. He decided to ask her before it was too late.

With each breath, he forced out the words, 

"Do you—"

"—think that—"

"—it's small?"

Kate stopped on the down stroke, with the whole of him in her mouth, her lips pressing against his pelvic bone, and his head flirting with the opening of her throat. She sort of grinned and then snaked her tongue down to reach his balls.

She pulled up and off him and then looked at him and said, "That's really important to you, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah. I guess."

"I've told you that size doesn't matter to me," she said, "Why isn't that good enough?"

"Because it's not an answer to my question."

"Fine," she said, "It's small." And then she put her mouth back over him and resumed sucking.

Kate's admission thrilled him. Michael threw his head back into the pillow and arched his hips high.

A few sucks later, she pulled off again. He moved his hips, trying to reconnect, but she stayed clear until he looked at her. 

She looked directly in his eyes and said, "It's very small."

That was all Michael needed to put him over the top. As soon as she put his dick back into her mouth, he came, shooting spurt after spurt.

Kate disliked the taste of Michael's sperm, but she was so horny and appreciative that she let him do it anyway.

She stayed there a moment, her lips still wrapped around him until his pulses dwindled and stopped. Then she lifted her head slowly and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Michael looked dazed. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

Kate crawled up beside him and snuggled into his shoulder. She reached over and traced her finger along his chest. "You know," she said softly, "you didn't dream that invitation. It's real."

Michael closed his eyes with a slight sigh.

Kate tilted her chin up at him and asked, "Are you sure you are ready for this?"

He hesitated. "I don't know," he admitted. "I feel like we've already gone so far. Like, how would we walk it back at this point?"

Her gaze lingered on him. She loved him. Deeply. And he had made a good point. They had already come a long way, and she had a curiosity, even a hunger, unlike any she'd had in many years.

Kate pressed her lips to his chest and whispered, "Then I guess tonight is the night."

Michael held her tighter, and those words echoed in his mind long after the moment ended.