41. Do I actually like this?

Shit.

My wife stopped ahead of me the second she heard his voice. Fuck no. Not now. Not with my wife right here. Not while my shorts were still wet from everything that just happened inside.

My cock was still half-hard, and now I had to stand here and talk to the one man who had fucked her behind my back, God knows how many times…

I was done for.

He stepped closer. I could feel the presence of him behind me before he even spoke. My wife turned around, and even though she looked a little nervous, it wasn’t the nervous kind of nervous. It was something else. She knew what was coming, and somewhere, I did too.

What should I do? What should I do?

I was sure he was going to say or do something that would push my buttons. Given how worked up I already felt, I was sure the other side of me would respond instead.

My stomach fluttered with nervousness, and yet there was that same dirty spark of excitement underneath it.

I turned around as well.

There he was, slightly hunched like always, hands behind his back, that same disgusting grin stretched across his face. He stopped right in front of me and dropped a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"How are you doing?"

“F-fine. Of course...” I swallowed. “How have you been?”

Embarrassing. Why am I asking him how he's been?

I should have been swinging at him. I had watched him fuck my wife. I should have been bashing his head into the pavement. Instead, I was doing something I hated even more.

I was reacting. My cock was reacting.

Why?

Why did simply having him standing there, with my wife beside me, bring those feelings back?

Is this jealousy? Excitement? Humiliation?

My cock gave another hard twitch, the wet fabric sticking to the head.

Then I remembered the advice I'd read online.

Breathe through it.

One of the comments had told me not to immediately fight whatever I felt. Instead, I was supposed to pay attention to the reaction itself. Try to separate what I hated from what I was drawn to. The answer, might be somewhere in that confusion.

My wife moved closer until she was right beside me. The three of us stood there in a tight little triangle. And now I had the perfect opportunity. My wife was standing beside me. He was standing right in front of me.

I took a slow breath.

Fine. If I really wanted answers, maybe I had to stop running from the feeling.

The old man turned to my wife and put his hand on her shoulder. "Look at me. I never thanked you for all the help you have given me."

This guy…

My teeth clenched. Watching his fingers touch her like that, even if it looked innocent, made my cock swell until it strained solid against my shorts. I glanced at her face, searching for any sign of what she was thinking, but she was staring straight at me, waiting. Waiting for me to do something. But what could I do?

I felt like I was burning from the inside, yet I forced myself to stay where I was. I'd told myself I needed to understand these feelings instead of immediately running from them. If I wanted an answer, maybe I had to let myself live the moment.

Then her eyes dropped briefly, to my crotch. Then she looked back into my eyes.

Shit.

I instinctively looked down and saw the obvious bulge pushing out the front of my shorts. I quickly shifted my position, keeping one hand close enough to hide my boner without making it obvious that I was doing so.

My wife smiled at the old man.

"No, it was our fault to begin with that you got hurt," she said.

"How sweet of you guys," he replied with a grin.

All I could focus on was his hand on her shoulder and the look on her face. He gave her a little squeeze, then dragged his palm slowly down her arm before finally letting go. At the same time he took his other hand off my shoulder.

He stepped back, stumbled, and nearly fell. It wasn’t a rock; it was his torn shoes with the laces flapping loose.

"Oh my. Almost broke my back," he chuckled. "If I did, I would have needed you maybe more than a week this time." He laughed, and so did my wife.

"It is fine. I won’t mind," she said, glancing at me with a smile. “Here, let me tie your lace. Otherwise, you might fall again.”

"Thank you. Thank you so much, lady."

She knelt and reached for the lace. But the shoelace had several knots and were badly tangled, so she started unknotting and untangling the laces first. Her face was little farther from his crotch, but enough that my cock gave another hard throb. I kept my hand angled in front of me, trying to block the view while my precum continued to leak.

The old man growled low in his throat. "This is quite an old shoe of mine, so the laces are tangled in a very rigid way."

"Yes," she answered, voice soft. "They are very hard... to untangle." As the words left her lips she tilted her head just enough to steal a quick, secret glance straight at his crotch. I saw it. My eyes were glued to her face and I caught the tiny flick of her gaze.

Fuck. She looked at his cock. Right in front of me.

She went back to the laces, fingers working, but a moment later her eyes darted there again, longer this time. My cock jerked so hard I thought it would rip through my shorts. My heart pounding as I tried to steady my breathing. I felt jealous. I felt humiliated. I felt angry that my presence meant nothing.

But beneath all of that was something I couldn't ignore anymore.

Arousal.

I could feel it clearly.

But Why?

I closed my eyes for a moment and took a slow breath, trying to separate the feelings instead of letting them all blur together. I was jealous of his touch. I hated seeing another man so close to my wife. I hated the lack of respect in the way he behaved around her, especially with me standing right there.

And yet, somehow, that same humiliation was affecting me in a completely different way.

Is that what this is?

I breathed in slowly, then let it out.

Do I actually like this?

The question made me nervous.

I didn't want to admit it. I didn't even know if it was true. Maybe I was simply overwhelmed by everything I'd seen and everything I'd been imagining. Maybe the jealousy, the humiliation, and the helplessness were mixing together and creating a reaction I didn't understand.

But whatever the reason, I couldn't deny what was happening inside me anymore.

For the first time, I stopped trying to push the feeling away and simply sat with it, breathing slowly as I tried to understand what it meant.

Am I enjoying this?

I still didn't have an answer. But I could feel myself getting closer to the answer.

My eyes stayed locked on her face. I watched every tiny movement, every flicker of her lashes. She stole another quick look, thinking she was being subtle, but I caught it. I caught every single one. My heart hammered so hard I felt it in my throat.

She finally pulled the knot free. The lace slid through her fingers, but something else caught my attention. The loose fabric of his shorts started to shift. A slow, heavy bulge pushed outward, stretching the thin material. The outline thickened, lengthened, pressing forward until the head of his cock was clearly defined against the cloth.

The situation had suddenly become far more excit- wrong than it had any right to be, and what made it worse was realizing that I wasn't the only person who had noticed. My wife’s gaze snapped to it and stayed there. She forgot the lace. She forgot everything except that growing shape inches from her face.

I grabbed my own dick through my shorts and squeezed hard, trying to hold back the throb. Stop. Stop it.

Then the old man turned his head toward me.

My pathetic instinct was to turn my face in the opposite direction, pretending I hadn't noticed anything. I stared at the wall with exaggerated interest, as though something fascinating had suddenly appeared there.

Fuck.

I swallowed.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You fucking loser.

That was all I could do. Pretend. Look away. Act like an oblivious husband who had no idea what was happening right in front of him.

But I couldn't completely stop myself.

I stole another glance from the corner of my eye.

I saw her struggling to focus on the lace, but she was losing. The cock hung heavy, so close her breath could have warmed it. I could see it in the way she moved, the tiny pauses, the way her attention kept drifting before she forced herself back to the task. Then it happened. She lifted her head just enough that the cock brushed across her hair. The shaft bobbed up and down lightly from the contact. My fingers clamped around my own aching dick through my shorts, squeezing hard enough to hurt. Fuck. Don’t do it so openly. I’m right here.

I felt embarrassed, angry, jealous, and excited. The mixture made it difficult to think clearly. I wanted her to stop, but at the same time, I couldn't stop watching.

She finished tying the lace, and looked at me with a quick, sneaky glance, checking if I had noticed. I kept my face blank, acting like I hadn’t seen a thing.

The old man stepped slightly in front of me, intentionally blocking my view.

My heart sank.

What the fuck?

I couldn't see my wife properly anymore. I couldn't tell what she was doing and it terrified me.

I swallowed hard.

This is too careless.

I couldn't let them have even a moment where I didn't know what was happening

So I spoke.

“Has… Has the tie been laced?” My voice came out anxiously.

No answer.

My heart started pounding harder.

“H-hey?”

The old man finally turned his head, smirking. “Of course, it’s been laced.”

My wife appeared beside him. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and she quickly tried to smooth it down with one hand. She looked at me, and for a second neither of us said anything.

“Are you o-okay?” I asked.

She smiled.

“Of course.”

The answer was so simple that it almost made me feel foolish for asking.

I nodded and forced myself to look away.

We started walking, but she wasn’t beside me. She was beside him. He stood right between us as we moved slowly toward our house. Our homes were on the same path, so I couldn’t do anything about it

His thick cock swung heavy, stretching the front of those loose shorts with every step. He walked like he had nothing to hide, like he didn’t give a fuck about me or anyone else. I kept stealing glances at my wife. She was looking straight at it. Not even trying to hide it anymore.

I had a hard-on too, but mine felt wrong. It throbbed for all the reasons I hated myself for.

The old man spoke up. “Ugh, I don’t have any groceries left. Don’t feel like going to the store either.” My wife flinched and answered just as quickly. “If you want, I can buy some for you.”

He smiled. “That’s a nice offer, but I’d rather have dinner at your house.” He laughed like it was already decided.

My lips moved, trying to form the word no. I wanted to say no. I tried to say no. But nothing came out. My cock was rock hard in my shorts and my brain was fogged with heat and fear. I couldn’t think straight. All I felt was the sick thrill of knowing he was going to fuck her in our house.

“Sure,” my wife said, politely. “You should come for dinner tonight.”

His cock jerked visibly, pushing the thin fabric of his shorts upward into a thick, unmistakable tent. My wife smiled at the sight, then quickly looked away like she hadn’t noticed a thing.

We reached our house first. He stopped right beside her near the gate, that rigid bulge aimed straight at her like a promise, straining upward through the thin fabric like it was trying to tear free. My wife smiled at him. The sight was humiliating. This was my house. This was my wife. But the man standing next to her had a hard cock pushing against his shorts, and she wasn’t moving away. He looked like he was already showing me what was about to happen, and I had no choice but to open the door and let him in.