A short story in three parts

A Cuckold, His Hotwife and Her Lover, Part 2: The Bedroom

Evie takes Hudson up to her and Martin’s bedroom

MARTIN

Evie calls to Martin from the foot of the stairs. Her voice wakes him, drawing him out of his dream. His head is thick with last night’s booze, those tail-end-Charlie rum shots, the guarantee of this morning’s hangover.

Someone is knocking on the front door, the rapping returning him into the waking world. He sits up in bed, his attention captured now. He hears Evie’s voice but not her words, then the dull thud of the front door closing and a male voice joining her in conversation.

Who has she invited into their home? Is it the man who reads the meter?

Martin has to think: No, it’s Saturday.

There is silence, a long, drawn-out, discordant note of nothingness. Martin throws back the bed covers and is about to get up and dress. But as he gathers his clothes, he hears footfalls on the stairs, not Evie’s usual graceful hurrying but the rumble of a heavier tread, the fee-fie-fo-fum thud, thud, thud of another person.

The footsteps cease on the small landing outside the bedroom, followed by Evie’s suppressed giggling and playful shushing.

Then, the creak of the hinges of a door already ajar as it opens fully. Evie enters, her hand trailing behind her, holding the hand of a person Martin cannot see yet. She looks over her shoulder and says, “Come on. I’ve told you . . . Martin won’t mind.”

Martin sits up straight in bed and pulls the duvet over his bare chest, a comfort blanket to ward off what comes next. A kind of terror has reached into his abdomen and begun to tug and twist at what lies coiled in there.

“You’re awake,” Evie says, drawing Hudson behind her and into a room that is in half-darkness, the drapes not yet opened.

“Look who’s here,” Evie says as if introducing to a child their father dressed up as Santa Claus.

A wave of cold anxiety washes over Martin. He knows what this is now: it is the thing he and Evie have talked about, the thing they often use to spice up their sex life, that thing involving Hudson and Evie while he looks on.

“Rough night, eh?” Hudson says, acknowledging Martin, two blokes greeting each other as if no female was present.

“Rum chasers, mate. Atomic!” Martin says with a laddishness he does not own.

Hudson steps forward. He is searching for words. “Evie’s been telling me . . .”

Martin cuts him short, intent on only his wife. “Why have you brought Hudson up to our bedroom?” he demands of her.

“Remember that thing we talked about, Martin?” She glares at him like he has made some social faux pas at a dinner party. “I thought we could do that thing . . .” And when he does not answer, she adds. “You know that thing!”

“You want to do it now?” he asks, unbelieving.

He had imagined a hotel room. Or an evening here in their home. After drinks. Too many drinks. But now that the moment is here, he realises he never really believed it would happen. And now he wants it to return to being only a possibility, an option he would never need to use. Just that!

HUDSON

Hudson stands beside Evie in the back bedroom of the two-up, two-down terraced house she and Martin rent. His hand clasps hers as he looks over at Martin, lying propped by pillows. The duvet swaddles him, covering him up to his neck.

Hudson has always regarded Martin as having too high an opinion of himself, suffering him only for Evie’s sake. He has always resented how Evie and Martin are the perfect couple, inseparable.

Until that kiss, that is.

A house party last Christmas. Hudson had found himself alone with Evie outside the upstairs bathroom. The look she had given him as they passed on the landing had decided it. If not now, when? he had thought, taking hold of her as she passed him, drawing her to him and kissing her without another thought.

The way she responded had left him breathless, her tongue instantly dashing between his lips, her litheness and its fluidity insinuating itself against him, moulding them together. In the moment of that first kiss, Hudson had wanted Evie more than he had ever wanted any woman before.

As they kissed, supporting her with both hands under her bottom, he had lifted her and walked backwards with her pressed against him, his shoulders pushing open a door and backing into an empty, darkened bedroom.

He is sure she would have let him have her on the bed amongst a chilled heap of abandoned woolly hats, scarves and coats. But coats at a party being coats at a party, he had feared departing guests bursting in on them without warning, there to collect their things.

The storm of lust kissing Evie had raised in him made him reckless. He had folded the hem of her dress right back and slid the flat of his hand into her panties.

As the slide of his fingers inched over her abdomen, she had parted her legs so readily, and he had been startled to find her drenched down there, a testament to how much kissing him had aroused her. And so he curled two fingers and let them sink into her cunt, trying his best to please her with their easy coming and going.

Lisa had noticed her husband and best friend were missing. She had gone to look for them, expecting to find them kissing in some corner.

The pair had barely time to straighten their clothes before Lisa discovered them emerging from the spare bedroom. If she had been stealthier, she would have burst in on her husband to find Evie gulping down what she had so skillfully extracted from his impatient cock.

She had suspected Evie and Hudson of having merely a drunken kiss and cuddle. She had no idea of what their actual kissing and cuddling had led to. She had given her husband a bollocking, ghosting Evie until today.

At home that night, Evie had confessed to Martin the blow job she had given Hudson. It came as a shock to him, even though they had discussed allowing each other the freedom to take lovers if ever the opportunity arose. Martin would have preferred Evie’s lover to be anyone but Hudson.

Now Hudson is standing with Evie in her marital bedroom. He loosens the belt of her kimono, its silkiness caressing the back of his hands as his palms settle where concavity becomes a voluptuous convexity. The reality of once again having Evie in his arms makes his head spin.

To continue reading click on the link below, to Part 3, the final part: