12. In His Spot
twelve
In His Spot
The next morning I got up and made coffee, moving quietly around the kitchen like the noise might wake something I wasn't ready to face. When I came back into the bedroom with two mugs she was already sitting up, the boy asleep in the bassinet, the tank top from yesterday damp again at the nipples.
“Okay,” she said. “Time to scoot. Steve’s coming over in a bit.”
I looked at her, ready to object and not sure on what grounds. She read it on my face the way she always does.
“Come on now. It is his baby.” She held my eyes. “And you wanted me to be a slut. Well. How many new moms would have another man’s cock down their throat the day after giving birth? Isn’t that what you wanted, baby?”
I nodded. The nod was the whole marriage in one motion. She added, almost as an afterthought, that I should make up some formula for Stevie and bring it back up before I left.
“But he’s breastfeeding,” I said, which was the stupidest sentence in the room.
She smiled and lifted her breasts with both hands, the weight of them still a surprise even after months of watching them grow.
“Yeah. But he needs to learn to like formula.” The smile went mean and fond at the same time.
“I know these are about to burst, but I want to be completely full when Steve comes over so he can suck me dry.” Before I could answer she winked. “And then I’ll suck him dry.”
I turned to go. At the door she added, her voice bright, “If I’m still horny, I’ll suck you dry too.”
I made the bottle in the kitchen with hands that did not feel like mine. I brought it up. I kissed the top of the boy’s head and the corner of her mouth and left the house so another man could empty my wife in our bed while his son learned to take a bottle. That was the morning. That was the job.
* * *
Over the next few weeks Steve came by when he could, and each time she sent me out.
Beer. A long errand. The office. I was excited about what they did and not happy about the leaving.
Same as always. The wrapper was different.
He had limited time. I had the house. He still had priority when he was in it.
I knew that was the ranking I had asked for.
The knowledge did not make the drive easier.
Then I had a day that fixed the ranking in a different way.
I left the office at lunch planning to work from home, the kind of ordinary decision that turns into a story later.
When I pulled onto our street there was another car in the driveway.
Springfield dealer frame. My stomach dropped with a familiar, unwelcome lurch.
I parked two houses down, sat for a count of ten, and walked back on the grass so my shoes wouldn’t give me away on the walk.
The front windows showed nothing. I opened the door quietly, left my shoes on the porch, and stood in our house listening. Soft voices from the bedroom. The door was ajar on the hinge side. Through the crack I could see about a third of our bed. That was enough.
Wendy was propped against the headboard in a tank she had already pulled up.
Steve was shirtless, his head at her breast, suckling like a man who had been thinking about this the whole drive over.
She had her hand in his hair and was making the small, private moans that meant someone was doing it right.
I stood in the hallway of my own house and watched another man drink my wife, and I was so hard it hurt.
After a few minutes he pulled off and looked up at her. “I think you’re empty.”
She touched herself, checking, and laughed under her breath. “I’m not surprised. You and your son both suck me like you’re starving.” She stroked his face. “I imagine it’s you when he’s really rough.”
He laughed and pushed up onto his knees.
“Your turn.” He was naked. I could see all of him now, the cock I had heard about for months and only ever gotten in photographs and the way she moved the days after he visited.
She smiled like she had been waiting for the order and wrapped her hand around him, leaving plenty of shaft for her mouth.
Her wedding ring flashed when she leaned forward and took the head in.
I had to press my hand flat against the wall to keep myself upright.
“Mmm. That’s good,” he said.
She pulled off just long enough to say, “Of course. I’m a good slut.”
He looked down at her. “Then get to it, you slut.”
The word out of his mouth did something to me I was not prepared for.
I had heard her say it about herself. That was one thing.
This was another. I watched her lips work down his shaft, taking more on each pass, eyes locked on his, looking up the way she had looked up at the nameless one in the photo I still kept.
He was long. She could not get the last few inches.
She worked what she could with her mouth and hand until he got impatient, having already decided how this would end.
“I got this,” he said, and put his hands on her head, and adjusted his stance, and fucked her face.
I watched my wife take it. Tears at the corners of her eyes.
Lips driven into his pubic hair on every thrust. She kept looking up at him anyway.
He lasted a couple of minutes of that and then he was jerking short and mean and telling her to eat it — slut — and she moaned around him while he emptied into her throat.
He held her there until he was done. When he let go she gasped, then grabbed him and licked him clean like the job had a second page.
She smiled up at him, wrecked and pleased.
“I love when you do that.”
“God, you’re such a slut. I wish you lived closer.” He sat back on our sheets. “When is your pussy back in business?”
She laughed and deliberately spread her knees. “The doctor says another ten days.” She stroked herself, light, showing him. “Believe me, I want you inside me right now. My cunt will soon be yours to use whenever you want.”
My knees wanted to go. The sentence went into me and stayed there, rigid.
She leaned in and gripped him while she looked him in the eye. “You know, if you moved closer, you could fuck my face and my cunt every day.”
He chuckled. “I think about it all the time.” His hands found her tits. “These got so big. Let’s keep them this way.”
She kissed him. First time I had seen them kiss in our bed. “If you keep breeding me, they’ll stay this big. Full of milk for you.”
“Count on it.”
He swung his legs out. I retreated to the office before the bedroom door opened wider, eased the office door shut, and sat in the dark with my cock aching and my pulse loud in my ears, steady and dull as a fist pressed against a bruise.
I heard him leave about fifteen minutes later.
I did not finish. I wanted whatever was left for her.
I also wanted to know if she would tell me, or if she would come in and pretend the afternoon had been a nap, which would mean she was a cheating slut in the pure sense.
I opened a laptop I could not focus on and deleted email for an hour and a half. That is what number two does with his hands when number one has just left the driveway.
* * *
When she opened the office door she had the baby in her arms and a look that had been casual and wasn’t anymore.
“Oh. Hi. When did you get home?”
“A while ago.” I smiled so she would know the temperature. I was not angry. I was so hard I could have broken a tooth, and I was enjoying the look on her face.
“Why didn’t you come see me?”
“You were busy nursing,” I said. I let her sit in the confusion for a second. “His dad. Yeah. Looks like it runs in the family.”
Her eyes went wide. “You saw.”
I nodded. “A lot. I started when he was emptying you. Then I watched you take him down your throat while he called you a slut. Good technique, by the way. The eye contact.” She swallowed.
I kept my voice even. “Then I watched him hold your head and fuck your face until he filled you. I left right after you told him he could use your cunt whenever he wanted.”
Silence. She rocked the boy without looking at him. Her jaw moved once, then stopped. She looked at the window.
“What are you thinking?” she asked finally, her voice soft, like she might cry after all.
“I think you’re a foul-mouthed, cock-hungry slut.” Her face crumpled, and I smiled so the sentence would land where I meant it. “I think you’re awesome. I can’t believe I get to be married to that. I love your dirty mouth—I hope you never stop being a slut.”
The relief hit her all at once. She laughed, still wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, and said, “I promise. I promise. My cunt will be open and very busy.” Another laugh, wet. “I’ll even find some Black guys if you still want the pictures.”
She looked down at the boy, then at the bassinet in the hall. I waited. She went and put him down. When she came back her hands were empty and her mouth was already open a little, the way it gets.
I was past talking. I stood and unzipped.
She made a sound that might have been protest and might have been agreement and took me in.
I lasted about as long as a man who has just watched his wife deep-throated in his own bed lasts.
I held her head the way Steve had and finished in her throat and she cleaned me up after, thorough, and looked up with wet eyes still going.
I called her a slut. She said yes I am the way she agrees to the weather.
She said I could watch sometimes, as long as I was careful not to get caught. She was still protecting Springfield. That line was still the cleanest thing we owned.
* * *
Ten days is not nothing when you have been counting.
I marked it without writing it down. When she texted that he was coming over and I should make myself scarce, I left for the office and then turned around halfway and parked on the next block and walked back, retracing my steps: shoes off in the hall, my eye to the hinge crack, my place in the ranking.