"You've got to be kidding me," Jo muttered, leaning over John's shoulder as he scrolled through his phone.
The screen showed a series of demolition photos—piles of splintered wood, shattered tiles, and the gaping hole where Martin's front door used to be.
“Crazy drunk driver! Caused so much damage. While repairs are carried out he’s got nowhere else to go, I had to offer." John said.
“It’s just for a couple of weeks.”
Jo chewed her lip, thinking of Martin’s last visit—how his low laugh had filled the kitchen while his fingertips lingered just a second too long on her wrist when handing her a drink. She exhaled sharply.
"Fine. We can make up the spare room."
Martin arrived with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a smirk that suggested he already knew how this would go. His jeans hugged his thighs in a way that made Jo look twice—then quickly pretend she hadn’t.
"Appreciate it," he said, tossing the bag onto the couch.
"Won’t be any trouble."
The way his shirt rode up when he stretched revealed a strip of toned stomach, and Jo busied herself with rearranging the already-neat stack of coasters.
Dinner was a tense affair. John prattled about work while Martin’s knee brushed Jo’s under the table—accidentally? She wasn’t sure. His fingers drummed lazily against his glass, the rhythm syncopated and distracting. When he caught her staring, he just grinned and took another slow sip, his eyes never leaving hers.
John chuckled, oblivious.
“See how he does that?” He nudged Jo’s elbow.
“Like he’s got some secret. Drives the girls at the office nuts.”
Martin shrugged, all false modesty, but his foot slid forward until his boot pressed against Jo’s bare ankle. The contact burned through her like a live wire. She jerked her leg back, flustered, and nearly knocked over her wine.
Later, while John washed dishes, Jo found herself cornered in the hallway by the guest room. Martin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his biceps straining the sleeves of his shirt.
“You know,” he murmured, voice low enough that John wouldn’t hear, “you’re way more interesting than those office girls.”
His thumb traced the edge of Jo’s waistband where her shirt had ridden up, feather-light. Her breath hitched.
She should’ve stepped away. Should’ve laughed it off. Instead, Jo’s pulse roared in her ears as his fingers curled possessively around her hip. The sound of running water from the kitchen suddenly felt miles away. Martin’s smirk deepened.
“Thought so,” he breathed, before pushing off the wall and disappearing into his room, leaving her frozen in place—skin tingling, mind racing.
The next morning, John’s alarm blared at 6 AM, jerking Jo awake. She rolled over, blinking at the empty space beside her—John was already in the shower. By the time she shuffled into the kitchen, he stood rumpled in his scrubs, gulping coffee like a man preparing for battle.
“Morning,” he mumbled, leaning in for a kiss that tasted of toothpaste and fatigue.
She pressed a bacon sandwich into his hands, wrapping his fingers around it.
“Be safe,” she murmured, watching him shrug into his jacket.
The front door clicked shut behind him, and Jo exhaled.
Martin was nowhere to be seen. His door remained closed, the silence behind it unnerving. She imagined him sprawled across the guest bed, sheets tangled around his waist, that infuriating smirk softened by sleep. Scrubbing a hand over her face, she shook off the image.
The shower spray scalded her shoulders, loosening the knots of tension coiled there since last night. She arched into the pulsing jets, letting the water sluice down her spine. The soap slipped between her palms. She dragged it down her stomach slowly, deliberately, fingertips skirting the edge of her mound before lathering her thighs. The razor’s glide was methodical, practiced—left leg, right leg, then the neat strip above her slickening folds. The blade rasped against her skin, each stroke leaving her sensitized, exposed.
Towelling off, she caught her reflection—flushed cheeks, pupils dilated—and pressed her thighs together. The scent of jasmine body lotion clung to her wrists as she smoothed it over her still-damp skin.
She wrapped the big bath towel around her body and headed back to her bedroom, listening carefully as she walked past the guest room, nothing.
Jo towelled her hair as she walked up to the mirror. She tossed the small towel to the floor and loosened the bath towel, letting it pool at her ankles. Something caught her eye, body lotion on her freshly shaved pubic mound. She gently rubbed it in, smoothing it over her skin. Then she turned, and froze.
Martin was in their marital bed, right where John would normally be, sitting up, bold as brass, watching her.
He lounged against the headboard, shirtless, the sheets pooled low around his hips—low enough that Jo’s traitorous eyes caught the shadow of his cock curving thick against his thigh. One hand propped behind his head, the other draped lazily over his stomach, fingers drumming against his own skin like he hadn’t a care in the world. His grin was pure sin.
Jo's hands flew up—one palm slapped over her nipple, the other wedged between her thighs, fingers splaying to shield her bare pussy. Too late, she realized the movement only drew attention to what she was trying to hide: her hardened nipples, the wetness already gathering between her folds. Martin’s nostrils flared.
Her thighs clamped tighter around her own fingers, trapping them against her throbbing clit. The dampness there wasn’t just from the shower anymore.
“You—you need to leave,” she lied, voice trembling.
Martin didn’t move from the bed. Instead, he let his gaze drag down her body like a physical touch—lingering on the way her palm pressed into her breast, how her fingers dug into her own flesh.
“Bullshit,” he drawled, shifting just enough to make the sheets slip lower.
The head of his cock peeked out, flushed and leaking.
“You’ve been imagining this since I walked in yesterday.” His tongue swiped across his bottom lip.
“Wondering how I’d stretch you. How loud you’d scream when I pinned those pretty thighs apart and fucked you raw.”
Her stomach clenched. The truth of it burned hotter than shame. She relaxed her hands and slowly exposed her nakedness to him willingly. She took another step, the carpet rough under her bare feet, the air thick with the scent of her own arousal. Martin didn’t rush her—just watched, lazily stroking himself now, his thumb smearing pre-cum over the swollen head. The sight punched a whimper from her throat.
Jo stood beside the bed and teased the duvet back, drinking in his nakedness, her lips parting as she studied his thick, veined shaft and heavy balls.
Martin's hand reached behind her, cupping her buttocks, pulling invitingly.
Jo lifted her leg and climbed over his body, straddling his hips, his thick shaft now resting in the crease of her arse. She leaned forward and kissed his mouth hungrily, their tongues dancing, her hard nipples rubbing against his hot, chiselled chest.
Martin's hands roamed over her smooth thighs, his rough palms scorching her skin with every touch. He groaned against her lips, his hips lifting slightly so his cock pressed harder against her naked skin, the heat and wetness between them making her tremble.
Jo arched her back, lifting just enough for his swollen tip to find her entrance—then sank down in one slow, deliberate motion, her slick walls stretching around him with delicious resistance. A sharp gasp tore from her throat as she took him inch by inch, her body adjusting to the thick intrusion, the stretch bordering on pain before tipping into pure, molten pleasure.
Martin's fingers dug into her hips, his groan ragged as she finally settled flush against him, his balls pressed tight to her ass.
"Fuck, you're tight," he gritted out, hips twitching upward instinctively.
Jo clamped down, pinning his wrists harder against the mattress, her nails leaving half-moon indents in his skin.
"Don't," she panted, rolling her hips in a slow circle, relishing the way his cock dragged against her inner walls. "My pace."
His laugh came out strangled when she lifted almost fully off him—only to slam back down, the slap of skin echoing off the walls. The headboard rattled against the wall with each punishing thrust, Jo's thighs burning as she rode him with a ferocity that left them both breathless. Beneath her, Martin's abs flexed, sweat sheening his chest as his control frayed.
"Christ, Jo—" His warning was cut off by her nails raking down his arms.
Then, in one fluid motion, Martin twisted them sideways, rolling her onto her back without ever slipping free. The sudden shift left Jo gasping—her legs splayed wide around his hips, knees hooked over his elbows as he loomed above her.
"Better," he growled, driving back into her in a single brutal stroke. The angle was obscene, deeper than before, his balls slapping against her ass with every snap of his hips.
Jo arched off the mattress, her nails scrabbling at his forearms where they pinned her thighs apart. Martin's thrusts turned erratic, his rhythm fracturing as her inner muscles fluttered around him. She could feel the coiled tension in his abdomen, the way his breath sawed through clenched teeth.
"Look at you," he rasped. "So wet."
The pressure built differently this time—not just the familiar tightening low in her belly, but something deeper, primal. Her hips jerked uncontrollably, her vision whitening at the edges. Martin's cock dragged against a spot inside her that lit up every nerve ending.
Then—release.
A sharp, stuttering cry tore from Jo’s throat as her body arched off the bed like a drawn bowstring. She felt it first as a rolling wave, her muscles clamping around Martin’s cock in frantic pulses, and then—something ruptured inside her, a dam breaking. A spurt of liquid heat gushed out around the base of his shaft, soaking his balls and the sheets beneath them.
Martin froze, his breath ragged with shock as another jet followed—then another—each one making Jo convulse and cry out beneath him, her thighs trembling wildly against his hips.
“Holy fuck,” he choked out, watching her pussy milk his cock in time with each gushing spasm.
The sheer force of it dripped down his thighs, pooling beneath them in a slick mess that smelled musky and sweet.
Jo gasped for air, her thoughts scattering. The aftershocks rippled through her in relentless waves, her body still twitching as Martin groaned and resumed fucking her—slow at first, then harder, chasing his own climax now. His thrusts turned erratic, his cock dragging through the mess she’d made, the squelch of it obscenely loud.
“Again,” he demanded, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
“Do it again.”
And she did—her vision whiting out as another surge of pleasure wracked her, her slick walls fluttering around him until his rhythm broke entirely. Martin’s hips stuttered, his cock pulsing deep inside her as he came with a guttural groan, his release spilling in hot, thick spurts that mixed with her own.
Panting, he collapsed onto her, his weight pressing her into the soaked sheets. Jo could feel his heartbeat hammering against her ribs where their chests met. His breath was hot against her neck, sending goosebumps cascading down her body, his fingers still tangled possessively in her hair. Neither of them moved—not when the front door creaked open downstairs, not when John’s voice called out, “Jo? You home?”
Her stomach plummeted. The shower. She’d left the bathroom door open, steam still curling into the hallway. The damp towel pooled at the foot of the bed. John’s footsteps climbed the stairs, steady, unhurried—the cadence of a man expecting nothing out of the ordinary.
Martin lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze, his pupils blown wide, lips parted around unspoken words. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. She could still feel him inside her, softening but present, their bodies glued together by the mess they’d made.
The bedroom door swung open.
John froze mid-step, his lunchbox dangling from one hand. His gaze skipped from Jo’s flushed face—the tousled hair, the bite mark blooming on her shoulder—down to Martin’s bare back, the sheet barely covering their joined hips.
Silence stretched, thick enough to choke on. Martin exhaled slowly, his breath stirring the hair at Jo’s temple.
“Sorry mate,” he murmured, voice stripped bare of its usual cockiness.
His fingers twitched against Jo’s hip—half-sheltering, half-possessive.
“I couldn’t help myself. And Jo—” His throat bobbed. “Well. She’s irresistible, mate.”
Jo squeezed her eyes shut, heart hammering. She should push Martin off. Should scramble for the robe hanging behind the door. But her limbs felt liquid, her skin still buzzing from the aftershocks.
“Please,” she whispered, breath hitching.
“Let me explain.”
John set his lunchbox down with deliberate calm. His fingers flexed once before he shrugged—the same easy motion he used when forgiving burnt dinners or missed birthdays.
“No need to explain,” he said, his gaze lingering on Martin’s hand still splayed across Jo’s thigh.
“I’m not entirely surprised, Martin.”
His chuckle sounded genuine, if strained.
“Not many women can resist your charm. And your sex drive’s the envy of many a man.”
John stepped closer, toeing a damp towel aside. The mattress dipped as he perched on the edge, his scrubs rustling. He reached out, tracing the fresh bruise on Jo’s collarbone with clinical detachment.
“Wife looks good on you, mate.”
Jo flinched. Expecting rage, recrimination—not this quiet, almost fascinated acceptance. Martin’s grip tightened on her hip, his thumb stroking the dip of her waist, his shaft still twitching deliciously inside her pussy.
"Are you seriously ok with this?" Jo asked, her cunt muscles discreetly squeezing Martin's softening shaft.
"Relax, hun," he reassured.
"Martin's right, you are fucking irresistible."
With that, John stood up and started to undress.
"Give me five minutes to get a shower, and I'll join you both."
Jo flexed her cunt muscles around Martin's hardness, causing a moan to escape his dry throat.
John peeled off his scrubs, tossing them into the laundry basket with practiced ease. The shower turned on down the hall, steam already curling under the bathroom door. Martin rolled his hips experimentally, his cock twitching back to full hardness inside her with shocking speed.
"Christ," Jo gasped, arching as he dragged his length against her oversensitive walls. "You're—"
"Insatiable?" Martin finished with a dark chuckle, flipping her onto her stomach in one smooth motion.
His hands kneaded her ass cheeks roughly before spreading them wide. The head of his cock nudged against her dripping entrance, then pushed in with a single punishing thrust that knocked the breath from her lungs. Jo buried her face in the pillow to muffle her cry, fingers clutching the sheets as he set a brutal pace, each snap of his hips punctuated by the wet slap of skin.
The bathroom door clicked open. John padded back into the bedroom, still damp from his hurried shower, his own erection bobbing against his stomach. He paused at the foot of the bed, eyes raking over Jo's flushed back, the way Martin's fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips.
"Fuck, that's hot," John breathed, palming himself as he watched Martin's balls slap against Jo's clit with every thrust.
"Warming her up for you, mate," Martin said, withdrawing from her with an obscene squelch.
Martin shifted in front of Jo's face as John took his position behind her, his thick cock glistening with her juices barely an inch from her parted lips. The musky scent of their coupling filled her nostrils as he gripped her hair, tilting her head back.
"Open wide," he growled, nudging against her tongue.
Jo's muffled moan vibrated around him as her husband's familiar hands spread her thighs wider behind her.
John's blunt tip pressed against Jo's swollen entrance, still stretched from Martin's rough treatment. He sank into her with one smooth thrust, his groan harmonizing with her choked gasp around Martin's cock. The dual fullness—Martin's thickness fucking her mouth in time with John's deeper, measured strokes—left Jo's vision blurring at the edges. Saliva dripped down her chin as Martin sped up, his balls slapping against her nose with each thrust of his hips.
"Christ, she's dripping," John panted, his fingers digging into her hips where Martin's had been moments before.
The wet sound of their joined bodies mixed with the obscene slurping as Martin thrust deeper down Jo's throat. Her gag reflex barely registered through the haze of pleasure, her fingers twisting in the sheets as John's pace turned punishing.
Martin pulled out with a wet pop, a string of spit connecting his cock to Jo's swollen lips.
"Switch?" He suggested, his voice ragged.
John didn't hesitate—he withdrew from Jo's throbbing pussy in one slick motion, leaving her clenching around emptiness, her body aching to be filled again. Martin slid into position behind her, his broad hands spreading her cheeks wide as he aligned his thick tip with her glistening entrance. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, making Jo cry out against John's thigh.
Jo's nails scraped against John's hips as she adjusted to Martin's different shape—thicker at the base, his angle sharper. Every movement hit spots John couldn't reach, stretching her deliciously in new ways.
“Fuck," she gasped, rolling her hips backward to take him deeper.
John leaned forward, capturing her moan with a hungry kiss, his cock bobbing against her chin. She could taste herself on his tongue—musky and sweet—as Martin set a relentless pace behind her, his balls slapping against her clit.
"I want to see her squirt mate." John said, looking at Martin.
"I've never made her gush. Show me how it's done."
"Pleasure." Martin said, pulling out of her pussy and pushing her over onto her back.
He placed a pillow under her ass lifting her hips.
"Makes for a better angle," he explained.
Jo arched into Martin's penetration, her body stretched impossibly tight. His grip on her thighs tightened as he adjusted his angle slightly, aiming upward, pressing relentlessly against that spongy spot inside her that made her toes curl.
"There," he growled.
John watched, transfixed.
Jo’s breath hitched as the pressure built—different this time, sharper, like a rubber band stretched to snapping. Martin’s thrusts turned shallow and precise, the swollen head of his cock dragging against her front wall with surgical accuracy. Her fingers clawed at John’s forearm, her thighs trembling violently. "I—oh fuck—"
Then it hit.
A guttural cry tore from Jo’s throat as her back bowed off the bed, her pussy convulsing around Martin’s shaft. The first jet splashed hot against his abdomen before she clamped down hard, her orgasm ripping through her in pulsing waves. Another spurt followed, then another—each one accompanied by a broken sob as her body milked Martin’s cock shamelessly.
John’s breath came in ragged pants, his fingers digging into Jo’s hip as he watched the liquid spill over Martin’s thrusting length.
"Christ," he muttered, transfixed by the sight of his wife’s pussy gushing around another man’s cock.
Martin’s rhythm faltered, his own climax crashing over him as Jo’s fluttering walls dragged him under. His groan was raw as he emptied himself inside her, his hips jerking erratically.
Jo collapsed boneless against the sheets, her thighs still quivering. John leaned in, licking a stripe up her oversensitive clit, savouring the mixed taste of her release and Martin’s spend.
"Fucking perfect," he murmured against her slick flesh.
Martin withdrew with a wet pop, his cum dripping from her well-used hole as John positioned himself at her entrance.
"My turn," he said hoarsely, pushing into her soaked warmth.
Jo whimpered, oversensitive but still hungry, her body yielding easily to her husband’s familiar shape. The bed creaked under their combined weight, the scent of sex thick in the air.
Martin knelt alongside Jo’s head, his slick cock glistening inches from her parted lips. He gathered the mess of their mixed fluids with two fingers, smearing it across her chin before tapping against her bottom lip.
"Clean me up, gorgeous," he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion and lingering lust.
Jo cupped his heavy balls, rolling them gently in her palm as she opened wider, taking him into her throat with practiced ease. Her nose pressed against his wiry pubes, the musky scent of sweat and sex filling her senses with every breath.
John’s thrusts grew erratic above her, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
"Fuck, Jo—" He cut off with a shudder, his cock twitching deep inside her as he came with a guttural groan.
The warm flood of his release triggered another ripple of pleasure through her spent body, her walls fluttering weakly around him. Martin groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair as her throat muscles massaged him through the aftershocks.
John collapsed beside them, his breath coming in ragged pants. Martin finally pulled free with a satisfied sigh, his softening length resting against Jo’s flushed cheek. She turned her head, pressing a kiss to his thigh as John draped a possessive arm across her stomach, his fingers brushing Martin’s knee. The silent acknowledgement hung between them—no jealousy, no regret, just the electric hum of shared satisfaction.
Jo closed her eyes, sinking into the tangle of limbs and sweat-damp sheets. Martin’s fingers combed gently through her hair as John traced idle circles on her hip. The afternoon sun slanted across their bodies, painting them golden and spent. Somewhere downstairs, the clock chimed four. None of them moved.
