Bang My Wife 2: Please

“I want to watch you choose.”

Right now, she’s in the bathroom getting ready. I can hear the shower running and the clink of her jewelry on the marble counter. She comes out in a black slip that costs more than our first car. Her hair is wet. She smells like vanilla and sin.

Tom is her coworker from the architecture firm. Tall, quiet, with forearms that look like they’ve drawn blueprints by hand for a century. He came to our BBQ last month. I watched him watch her reach for the top shelf. The way his jaw tightened. I didn't get angry. I got an erection.

She walks over, takes my hand, and places it between her legs. She’s already soaked. Please Bang My Wife 2

Instead, it made me worship her.

“Terrified,” I say. “You?”

This is “Please Bang My Wife 2.” It’s not cuckolding. It’s not humiliation. It’s a gift wrapped in velvet rope. “I want to watch you choose

But tonight is different. Tonight isn't a stranger from a bar. Tonight is Tom .

So she did. She texted him. He replied in three minutes: “I’ve thought about it since the BBQ. But only if he watches. I need him to see.”

For three weeks after the first night, we didn’t just have sex. We colonized each other. In the shower. Against the kitchen counter while the coffee brewed. In the back of the Uber after a boring dinner party. She’d lean over and whisper, “Remember the way he looked at me?” and I’d nearly drive off the road. Her hair is wet

“Nervous?” she asks.

If you read my last post, you know the setup. The first time was an earthquake. It shattered every fragile, protective casing I had built around my ego. Watching her— my Sarah—lose herself on a stranger’s lap wasn’t supposed to make me hard. It was supposed to make me angry. Jealous. Traditional.