Chapter Four

“Jesus, love. Where did that come from?” Mason stared at her, gasping for breath. “I mean, you’ve been… different today. But this? This is something else.”

She stood, her movements graceful and deliberate as she closed the distance between them. Her fingers snaked up his chest, tracing the lines of lean muscles before she laced them behind his neck.

“Don’t play dumb, Mason. I saw the way they were looking at you. Those wanton women, hanging on your every word, touching you like they had any right to.” Eliza’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of anger. “I know you said they were simply acting friendly. But is that what you call it when they’re practically throwing themselves at you? When they’re leaning over you, letting their cleavage do the talking?”

Mason’s treacherous mind leapt back to the image of Marcy’s big, sumptuous breasts nearly spilling out of the low-cut bodice of her party dress when she’d served him iced tea. Then the curvy redhead–what was her name again?–who had practically rested her bountiful bosom on his head while massaging his shoulders.

Even chestnut-haired Lana, who boasted a slight figure on par with Eliza’s, hadn’t been shy about presenting her ample assets, filling out a sweetheart neckline most fetchingly.

To his shame, Mason's softening cock underwent an unprecedented resurgence, returning to full mast.

“They’re not my wife.” He dragged Eliza against him, pushing his restored rigidity against her trim tummy. “You’re the only woman for me, love.”

“Prove it. Make me believe.”

Bending low, he nibbled her throat, sliding the denim cut-offs off her slender thighs. She kicked them away, squeaking delightfully when he seized her tight butt in a possessive grasp, then lifted. Those same thighs locked around his waist, and they staggered together, drunk on lust.

She rubbed her inflamed clit across his turgid tip, leveraging her strict leglock to push off his hips and smear him across her moist entrance.

Boxes toppled, spilling office supplies, as Mason crashed through the studio with Eliza clinging like a horny leech, necking and grinding in tandem. Stumbling over an upended chair before catching his balance, Mason breached her welcoming folds almost by accident, gliding in with a startled grunt of pleasure.

“Yeeesssss~...” Eliza hissed. “There’s my man. Give it to me, hubby. Give it to me hard! Stamp your claim on this pussy. Show me that I’m yours!”

Mason didn’t need extra goading. He gripped her tightly, fingers digging into her firm backside, thrusting in a rhythm that was both covetous and punishing.

Each movement was deliberate, each pussy-pummeling blow delivered as a reminder of how much he craved her. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the studio, mingling with their ragged breaths and Eliza’s occasional shrills of rapture.

Sharp nails raked across Mason’s shoulder blades, leaving red trails that only spurred him on. Her ankles crossed behind him, pulling him in further with every thrust. Eliza’s head fell back, exposing the elegant column of her neck. Mason couldn’t resist a less-than-playful bite, marking her as his.

“Harder, hubby,” she demanded, in a breathless whisper. “I want to feel every inch of you.”

Mason eagerly obliged, increasing the intensity of his pounding penetrations until Eliza writhed in his arms. Her itty bitty titties careened against his chest, the fabulous friction sending jolts of electric bliss through both of them. He could feel her internal walls squeezing him, constricting with each energetic motion as she spiralled towards climax, juices squirting.

“Tha-that’s it,” she moaned, tremulous with carnal craving. “Like that. Aaaah! Don’t stop.”

It was a different brand of passion than they usually indulged in. Not the gentle, careful, are-you-okay lovemaking that had defined their newlywed sex life. So cautious and mindful of each other’s emotions.

No, this was fucking. Rough and raw and utterly primal. Mason had been reduced to caveman, clubbing her slippery snatch with his indomitable dick and clawing her butt.

“Jesus, love. I can’t think straight! You’ve got me so riled up–”

“Yes! Hyaa~... Yes, yes. Like that. You feel soooo~ fucking good. Give it to me… Oooh! Give it to me!”

Staggering, he carried Eliza across the studio until they slammed into the glass sliding door. By some miracle, the glass didn’t break, and Mason pinned her arching back against it, railing her with everything he had.

She yanked at his dark hair to run her warm tongue across his jaw, slim thighs clenching as though she would pinch him in half. Mason was hunched over her smaller form, relishing the molten heat of his wife’s clutching slickness when distant movement outside snared his attention.

Through a sparse copse of conifers, he spotted people moving on the lakeshore, not forty yards away—familiar figures clad in scanty swimwear.

Their brazen neighbours, who’d packed up brunch less than an hour ago, were frolicking in the sparkling waters. Laughing and splashing each other like sorority girls on spring break with nary a male to be seen.

The variety of what might charitably be called swimsuits was as diverse as the feminine frames sporting them.

Mason’s rampant rod thickened, and his thrusts took on a frenetic energy at the captivating visions, romping merrily in the lake. Eliza gasped, uttering words he didn’t hear.

Blonde Marcy’s lean yet buxom beach bunny form boasted a plunging bikini top and cheeky bottoms of the palest blue, while the vibrant redhead, whose name Mason had forgotten, tossed her a beach ball. That fiery-haired stunner whose substantial curves nearly spilled out of a green high-cut Brazilian microkini shrieked gleefully when lissome Lana intercepted the throw, attired in a black and white polka dot one-piece with frilly accents and a cute bow tied across her well-formed chest.

Mason’s eyes widened as they cavorted like naiads in the lake. His hips pistoned harder at the sight of so much succulent feminine flesh on display. More women played around the central trio. Showstopping sirens of modelesque proportions, similarly garbed in scandalously brief beach fashion.

The view enthralled him.

Magnificent tits and asses of every size and shape bounced enticingly. Skin tones ranging from dark chocolate to ivory white glistened wetly in the sunshine. One of them bent over to adjust her sandal, her peachy butt on full display, while another tossed her gleaming auburn hair. They pranced and posed, flaunting their sexy bodies as though shooting a beer commercial.

“Christ, that’s hot.” He grunted, breath fogging the glass as he imagined charging down there and adding himself to the scene. Pictured them kneeling in awe of his steely shaft, offering themselves eagerly. “So fucking hot…”

Mason's pumping hips went into overdrive, thrusting forcefully into his wife's tightening twat, heedless of her climactic cries.

On the shoreline, sheltered beneath a beach umbrella, sat Tammy Gresham. Reclining in a folding chair, grinning from behind large sunglasses. Her conservative dress was replaced by a skimpy Lycra confection that criss-crossed the burgundy-haired realtor's extravagant contours in scarlet straps, barely covering her more sensitive bits.

She slipped a bottle of cola through a straw, completely content, watching the other belles play. The creamy skin of her devastatingly long legs glowed as she stretched them into the sunlight.

Mason had a sudden urge to lick those impressive gams. To work his way up from her perfectly turned calves, over her knees, and seek the hidden treasure buried between those mouth-watering–

“Yes! Fuck me, fuck me… mmmnph!! I’m going to cum!” Elated howls snapped Mason’s focus back to his petite wife, unravelling on his pile-driving prick. “Talk to me… Yaaah! T-tell me how much you want me.”

Returning to reality, he was almost shocked to find Eliza shaking through a monumental orgasm. Wailing and thrashing in his arms, all self-control lost.

Mason swallowed hard, forcing himself to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted as she panted, eyes dark with desire. “I want you so fucking bad,” he growled. “You’re mine, Eliza. All mine.”

She moaned, hips grinding against his as she quaked in his formidable grasp. “Yes, yes! I’m yours. Fuck me like you mean it.”

The knowledge that he had brought Eliza to such heights of ecstasy ignited a foreign sensation in Mason’s chest.

He felt strong.

He felt powerful.

He felt in charge.

“Cum for me,” Mason demanded, hoarse with desire. “I want to see you cum on my hard hubby cock.”

Eliza responded immediately. Her gushing cunt convulsed, clamping down on him as she cried out his name.

“MAAAASON!!”

That was the final straw, and with a last **** lunge, he exploded.

A galaxy of stars danced in Mason’s vision as his throbbing balls unloaded for a second time. The mind-boggling torrent streaming out of him shouldn’t have been possible. Things like male refractory periods existed, although they seemed unimportant in the scalding heat of the moment.

Ignoring the pesky minutiae of biology and anatomy, he surrendered to the euphoric pleasure of release.

For long moments, they stayed tangled together, breathless and trembling in the lingering haze of lust. Eliza melted against him, her cheek pressed to the crook of his neck, her breath warm and ragged.

“Mine,” she whispered, the word barely more than a tremor against his skin.

Mason held her tighter, but his gaze drifted inevitably to the lake.

The shoreline had fallen unnaturally still.

The women of Cedar Point Estates—those gorgeous, bombshell housewives in their provocative swimsuits—stood frozen in the shallows, their bodies half-lit by morning light. Not a single one moved. Not a blink. Even the breeze, as it lifted hair across their unreadable expressions, failed to stir them.

All except Tammy.

She tilted her head—only slightly—meeting Mason’s stare over the rim of her sunglasses with a knowing smirk, like she’d been watching the whole time.

Like they all had.

Guilt clocked him like a punch to the jaw.

He’d been fucking his beloved wife—with her, in her—yet his eyes had strayed. His mind had wandered. Worse, he hadn’t just looked. He’d gotten off on it. Harder than he had any right to be. Like some sick voyeur, getting off to the crowd of silent, smiling strangers through the trees.

He’d cum like a goddamn freight train.

What the hell was wrong with him?

What the hell was wrong with this place?

He kissed the top of Eliza’s head, stroking the bare curve of her spine in slow, soothing passes.

“Yours,” he murmured, trying to anchor himself in her warmth, in her presence. “Always yours.”

“That was amazing,” she murmured, drowsy and sated.

Mason **** a brittle smile, arms tightening around her. “Yeah,” he said quietly, still staring out the glass door. “It was.”

But he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d seen, what he’d done.

And what, if anything, it meant.

End of Part One

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