Still Yours, Until She Wasn't

Ethan was thirty-three, tall, lean, with a frame shaped by early mornings at the gym and long, meditative walks through the city. His tousled brown hair and steady hazel eyes gave him an approachable, unassuming appearance. There was nothing dramatic or mysterious about him. He worked in finance, kept a tidy calendar, and lived his life with the kind of order that comforted him. But this wasn't a story about Ethan.

It was about Olivia, his wife. About the slow, shimmering shift in her that he hadn't seen coming. A change that both captivated and quietly unnerved him.

Olivia was twenty-nine. Tall, poised, and elegant in motion. Her dark brown hair fell in soft, tumbling waves down her back, gleaming like polished mahogany under sunlight. Her green eyes were sharp as glass, always observant, always aware yet they glowed warmly when she laughed, like something softer lived beneath. Her body, sculpted through years of yoga at dawn and pilates at dusk, was lean and athletic. Her shoulders were defined, her waist narrow, her legs seemingly endless. Even after six years together, Ethan often found himself watching her as if seeing her for the first time.

They'd met in London during university, he was the quiet one in finance lectures behind glass-paneled walls; she thrived in the hum of engineering labs. From the first day he saw her stride across campus, head high, expression effortlessly self-assured, he'd known she was different. People noticed her. Men, especially. Not because she tried, but because everything about her was confident, unforced. She flirted, yes, but with charm rather than intention. A flash of white teeth, a tilt of her head, the playful gleam in her eye.

In the early days of their relationship, Ethan wrestled with jealousy. One night, in the quiet of his small flat, he asked if he should be worried.

She'd leaned in, eyes steady. Her voice had been soft, but sure.

"Baby, I know exactly where the line is. If anyone ever crosses it, I'll draw the line in the sand, and if I can't, you'll be the first to know."

That moment stayed with him. Her confidence felt like armor. He believed her because she said it with the clarity of someone who knew herself.

But lately, something between them had started to dull. Not broken, just routine. Quiet dinners eaten in front of glowing laptop screens, goodnight kisses given half-asleep, and the kind of silence that felt more like distance than peace. They weren't unhappy. But they weren't alive, either.

So they booked four days in Andalusia. A break. A reset. A spark.

The house they found just outside Málaga was a dream, whitewashed walls, warm terracotta tiles, and a shaded garden alive with climbing bougainvillea. The beach was a ten-minute stroll away, the market just beyond that, full of the scent of fresh citrus, ripe olives, and sweet churros frying in oil. The sun promised to kiss their skin; the trip promised something else: movement, escape, a reminder of each other.

What Ethan didn't know, what he couldn't yet name, was how much that escape would change everything.

Our host, Carlos, wrote with an easy familiarity;

"Looking forward to welcoming you!" he signed every message.

He was polite but eager, his Spanish warm and effusive in text. I chalked it up to hospitality and pressed on.

Three nights before we left, Olivia pulled a dark green bikini from her suitcase. The fabric was slick and soft, the hue deep as a forest after rain. The top's cups were cut low, framing the gentle swell of her breasts; the bottoms rode on thin straps that hugged her hips like vines. She held it up against her skin.

"Do you think this is too much?" she asked, voice quiet, almost hesitant.

The neon lights of our bedroom bounced off the glossy fabric.

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to ask her to choose something more reserved, anything that might keep strange eyes at bay, but I saw the pride in her posture, the way her shoulders lifted when she admired herself in the mirror.

Ethan responded, truthfully, "No. You look incredible. You've worked for that body, show it off."

In that moment, Ethan unknowingly gave her permission, not just to flaunt what she'd earned, but to be noticed by anyone under that bright Andalusian sun, including Carlos, whoever he might prove to be.

As she sank onto the bed to fold the bikini, Ethan noticed the rest of her wardrobe fanned around her: other swimsuits in bold prints, snug denim shorts meant to accentuate her legs, gauzy sundresses that promised to cling in the heat. Ethan chest tightened with a flicker of insecurity, but he forced himself to hold his tongue. He watched her pack each piece with a quiet thrill, thinking he was just stepping back to admire the work of art he would married.

The next day they flew to Spain in the very early hours of the morning, the trip was smooth. Olivia wore her nice dark yellow sundress with a nice pair of vans, quite comfortable for the trip. When arrived they went to the outside of the airport, Carlos was waiting for them outside with a post with both their names on, he looked good for his middle thirties, full head of black hair, a big white smile, a good set of beard and blue eyes. The guy was stunning. He introduced himself;

''Hola! Welcome to Spain! Nice to finally meet you both in person. Come quickly because I can only be in this spot for 10 minutes and I am sure you can't wait to start your holiday.''

In that moment Ethan saw how Olivia looked at Carlos with a big smile, not the one she normally does, it was different. A smile of desire.

They both got in the car, it was nice and cool as Carlos kindly put the air con on. It was still early in the day and Carlos offered to take us around the village where we were staying to familiarise ourselves as he had mentioned in the message.

While in the car he asked us;

''So! what do you two have planned for this holiday, what do you want to do?''

Ethan replied ''We want an active holiday but also with some relaxation inbetween, we don't have much sun back home so it would be nice to make the most of the weather out here and explore.''

Carlos agreed as he nodded his head up and down.

Carlos then mentioned a vineard situated on the hills where there was an amazing view for the sunset while they could endolge themselves to the wine. Olivia and Ethan were definitely up for that as they were both keen on wine tasting.

Carlos dropped them at the AirBnB, pulling up outside a small whitewashed house tucked between lemon trees and wild bougainvillea. The roof was tiled in warm terracotta, and a soft breeze moved through the porch draped in flowering vines. A pair of wooden rocking chairs sat beneath the shaded overhang, and the thick walls promised coolness inside.

"This," Carlos said, stepping out and grabbing their suitcases, "is my little retreat. I only rent it out to couples. Something about the quiet here it brings people closer."

Olivia smiled warmly. Ethan watched the way she brushed her hair back, her fingers tucking the dark waves behind her ear as she looked around.

"It's beautiful," she said, voice light. "So peaceful."

Ethan nodded, but his eyes remained on her, catching the slight flush in her cheeks as Carlos unlocked the door and gave them a quick tour.

After settling in, they met Carlos again outside. True to his word, he offered to walk them around the village, a scattering of white stone buildings, narrow cobbled lanes, and sleepy cafés with weathered chairs baking in the sun. He led them down winding streets as if he owned them, stopping often to point out the bakery, the best spot for morning coffee, the tapas bar only locals knew about.

At one stop near the edge of a small square, Carlos leaned against a railing beside Olivia as they overlooked a sun-drenched terrace.

"So, Olivia..." he said, casually, but with a spark behind the words. "Tell me, do you like your holidays quiet... or full of little surprises?"

Ethan turned from where he was reading a tourist plaque and caught the tone instantly. Olivia tilted her head, smiling politely.

"I like both," she replied, smooth and unbothered. "A little peace, a little thrill."

Carlos chuckled. "That's a dangerous answer."

She raised an eyebrow. "Only if you assume I don't know how to handle danger."

There was a beat of silence, heat shimmering in the air between them.

Ethan stepped in, breaking it. "We're pretty open-minded with what we do. Hiking, wine tasting, the beach. No strict itinerary."

Carlos nodded, eyes still on Olivia for just a moment too long. "Well, if you're looking for a guide... I know a few places even Google doesn't."

It was said with charm, but Ethan felt it, a low twist in his gut. He wasn't used to other men speaking that way around Olivia, let alone right in front of him. And worse: she didn't shut it down. Not exactly.

Later, Carlos dropped them off at the beach. The sun was high, the sand a pale stretch leading down to the rolling blue. Before stepping out of the car, Olivia slipped off her sundress.

The thin fabric slid from her shoulders and caught around her waist before falling, pooling at her feet. Beneath it, the dark green bikini clung to her like it was made just for her: the top framed her breasts perfectly, lifting without effort; the bottoms curved over the tops of her thighs, the thin straps resting snugly against her hips. Her skin was sun-kissed already, glowing with warmth.

Carlos, who had stepped out to open the trunk, stopped for just a second too long. His eyes moved over her, slow but careful, like he was appreciating art in a museum.

"Wow," he said, breath low. "Spain suits you."

Olivia smiled and thanked him, as if it were nothing. But Ethan saw the flush on her chest... and the way she didn't look away.

Carlos drove off, and Ethan didn't speak for a moment as they walked down to the sand. Olivia spread their towels and settled back, sunglasses on, legs stretched, her fingers idly moving through the edge of her hair.

He laid beside her, but his mind wasn't calm. Her body had always drawn eyes, but something about how she let Carlos look...

He shook the thought and focused on the ocean.

That night, they had dinner in the old part of the village: grilled sea bass, a bottle of chilled Albariño, candles flickering on the table. Olivia wore a silky black dress with a deep neckline and a slit that rose high up her thigh. Her legs glowed in the low light, her shoulders bare except for the delicate straps of the dress. Her perfume carried on the warm air, soft, citrus, with something darker underneath.

She leaned forward as they talked, her voice low and relaxed. And Ethan, though deeply in love, couldn't ignore the fact that every man who passed their table turned to look.

What he didn't see was Carlos. Across the square, alone at a corner table with a glass of Rioja in hand, he watched them for nearly an hour. His gaze was steady, his expression unreadable. He watched Olivia's dress shift when she crossed her legs. Watched the way she smiled at Ethan, and how Ethan looked tense, like he was trying too hard to relax.

Carlos didn't approach. He didn't need to.

The next morning, Olivia convinced Ethan to go for a hike along one of the trails Carlos had recommended. The heat hadn't peaked yet, and the woods were dry and fragrant, full of pine and wild herbs.

They followed the rocky path up a hill, stopping occasionally to admire the view of the sea in the distance. Olivia was in shorts and a tight white tank top that clung to her back with sweat. Her hair was tied up in a high, messy ponytail, a few strands sticking to her temples. She looked wild. Free.

At one point, the trail curved into a clearing where the trees formed a natural arch overhead, filtering the sunlight in golden beams.

Olivia stepped ahead, turned, and pulled Ethan by the hand toward her. Her lips brushed his, and her fingers slipped down to his waistband.

"Nobody's around," she whispered, voice husky. "Let's do something a little wild."

He hesitated. "Olivia... what if someone comes by?"

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear. "Then we'll be quiet. You used to like things like this."

He swallowed, pulse quickening, but the nervous twist in his gut returned. The thought of being caught gnawed at him.

"I... I don't know," he said quietly.

She stepped back, eyes searching his. "You don't know?"

"I just... I don't feel comfortable, out here like this."

She nodded slowly, forcing a small smile. "Okay. That's okay."

But her voice had cooled, and the fire in her eyes dimmed just a little. The rest of the hike passed quietly.

The next day, they woke late, sun already pouring through the window. Olivia wore a long flowy dress, no bra underneath. Her body moved under it like silk over water. Ethan watched her with a mix of desire and guilt, knowing he'd left her wanting.

They had agreed to spend the day at a vineyard Carlos had mentioned. When Olivia suggested inviting him "since he knows the wines", Ethan hesitated.

... but he said yes.

He told himself it was fine. A local guide. A helpful host. Nothing more.

Olivia smiled, not polite, not grateful, but something warmer. Something like anticipation.

Olivia stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the straps of her red heels with slow precision. The summer dress she chose was cream-colored and made of soft, flowing fabric that clung to her hips when she walked. It was backless, dipping low between her shoulder blades, tied at the neck in a halter knot that left her shoulders bare. The hem fluttered high up her thighs, especially when the wind caught it. Beneath, she wore a delicate red thong that matched her shoes, the fabric whisper-thin and nearly invisible beneath the dress.

She looked stunning, effortlessly sensual, not overdone, but impossible not to notice.

Ethan, leaning on the doorway, took her in with a quiet breath.

"Red heels for a vineyard?" he asked, half teasing, half in awe.

Olivia turned slightly, her lips curling with mischief. "It's Spain. Why not make the grapes blush?"

He chuckled, but there was a pang of possessiveness in his chest. That dress... those heels... she wasn't dressing for him. Not entirely.

Carlos arrived in his sleek white car, and to Ethan's surprise, he wasn't alone.

"This is my good friend, Miguelo," Carlos said, stepping aside as his companion climbed out of the passenger side.

Miguelo was the very image of Mediterranean charm. Late thirties, thick black curls slightly tousled, sun-bronzed skin, and a five o'clock shadow that looked effortlessly intentional. His dark button-up shirt was open at the neck, revealing a strong chest. His eyes dark, amused lingered a moment longer on Olivia than Ethan liked.

"Pleasure," Miguelo said, his accent thick. "Carlos said this vineyard was special. I've never been, but I do love wine."

Ethan glanced at Olivia, who smiled politely but offered no response. He could feel her body subtly tense beside him. They weren't sure about the addition, but refusing would feel rude now, so they climbed in.

The vineyard was nestled into a hillside overlooking miles of olive groves and amber fields. Rows of grapevines ran like emerald rivers across the landscape, and the breeze was warm and dry. The winery itself was small, family-run, with a charming outdoor terrace where tastings were already underway. Platters of manchego, Iberian ham, fresh figs, and crusty bread were passed around freely.

They ate well, drank deeply.

Olivia seemed to glow in the sunlight, her cheeks flushed from the wine, her laughter lighter than Ethan had heard in weeks. People gravitated to her naturally, men, women, couples and soon a loose group had formed around them. Shared bottles. Shared stories. Spanish, English, French accents blending like the wine in their glasses.

Carlos, Ethan noticed, didn't drink. Not even a sip.

He stayed close to Olivia, always near enough to pass her a napkin, offer her more water, or ask how she liked a particular blend. He moved with ease, his focus always measured. Where Miguelo was flamboyant and expressive, Carlos was calculated. Present. Watching.

At one point, as Olivia leaned against the wooden railing to admire the sunset, Carlos approached quietly behind her.

"You look like you belong here," he said softly.

She turned slightly, wine glass in hand. "Do I?"

"This place is sensual. Warm. Slow. You fit."

Ethan, standing nearby, heard it. He watched as Olivia smiled--faint, tired, but unmistakably flattered.

"I'm not usually so relaxed," she said.

Carlos replied, "Maybe you just needed the right setting."

The sun dipped below the hills, casting a burnished gold across the vineyard. The laughter of their group grew louder, more uninhibited. Wine flowed freely. Stories became bolder.

Olivia leaned against Ethan and whispered, "I'm getting tired. I think I've had too much wine."

Before Ethan could respond, Miguelo stepped in.

"I can take her back," he said quickly. "It's no trouble."

Carlos stepped forward without hesitation. "Miguelo, you've been drinking since lunch. I haven't. I'll take her."

There was a tense beat between the two men, an unspoken challenge, but Miguelo shrugged and stepped back.

Olivia turned to Ethan. "Are you okay if I head back with them? You're still enjoying yourself."

He glanced around at the group, who were now discussing a moonlit walk through the vineyard.

"I'll stay a bit," he said. "If Carlos doesn't mind taking you."

Carlos placed a hand to his chest. "Of course. I'll come back to get you after I drop her and Miguelo off."

Ethan nodded, kissed Olivia's cheek, and watched as she walked toward the car with Carlos, her red heels striking against the gravel, her dress lifting ever so slightly in the breeze.

Carlos's car vanished down the gravel road, dust hanging like spent smoke. Olivia's red heels, sexy, bold, were the last Ethan saw before the door slammed.

He sipped his wine. It tasted flat. A couple nearby talked failed honeymoons; he nodded, staring at dark hills.

Carlos hadn't touched a drop all night. While others loosened, he sat poised, waiting. Miguelo had been drooling over Olivia; Ethan despised him. But when Carlos said, "I'll take her," it wasn't a request. Ethan stayed silent.

Now Olivia was gone. Shadows crept across the vineyard. Terrible thoughts bloomed:

What if Carlos never brings her back? What if she doesn't stop him? His pulse thundered. Twenty minutes. Too long. He checked his phone. No texts. He messaged,;

"Everything okay? Let me know when you're home safe."

Delivered. No reply.

His glass was refilled; he forced a smile. Instinct coiled in his gut. He stood.

"Everything alright?" someone asked. "Yeah," he lied. "I'll get a taxi."

In the lot, he opened his rideshare app and stared into the dark horizon as his ride confirmed.

Back in the AirBnB....

The car rolled to a gentle stop outside the whitewashed cottage. The porch light was already glowing, casting warm shadows on the terracotta tiles. The faint scent of jasmine lingered in the night air. Miguelo stayed in the passenger seat, texting someone on his phone, while Carlos stepped out and rounded to Olivia's door, opening it for her.

She hesitated, blinking against the heady mix of wine and the long, sun-drenched day.

"Thank you," she said, stepping out, heels clicking against the stone path.

Carlos didn't reply immediately. He simply offered his arm. She didn't take it, but she didn't step away either.

"You're quiet," he said softly, voice lower now, no longer performative like it had been around the others.

"I'm just tired." She paused, then added with a faint smile, "And a little drunk."

He looked at her, steady. "Drunk enough to forget who you are, or just enough to feel everything more clearly?"

She met his eyes, a flicker of tension rising in her chest. That subtle, dangerous charisma he carried, unspoken until now, was suddenly right in front of her. Not loud. Not forceful. Just present.

"I'm married," she said quickly, barely above a whisper.

He nodded, stepping just a little closer.

"Yes. And still... here you are. Looking at me like that."

"I'm not..."

"You are," he said, his voice calm, unreadable. "And I won't touch you unless you want me to. But if you do... I'm right here."

Olivia didn't move. Her breath came a little faster, chest rising beneath the loose fabric of her dress. The night air was warm, but her skin prickled. Somewhere behind them, Miguelo's voice floated faintly from the car, laughing at something on his phone.

Carlos took a slow step forward. He didn't reach for her. He waited.

The evening was filled with the buzzing of crickets and the occasional distant sound of a car passing by. Olivia's mind was filled with racing thoughts, her breathing quickening as she considered her options.

Her body was on fire, every nerve sparking with excitement and arousal. Her mind recalled the earlier frustration with Ethan and the opportunity to satisfy that desire with Carlos was too tempting to resist. She took his hand and led him to the house, closing the door behind them as she prepared for what was to come.

Carlos didn't waste a second. His hand slid to the nape of Olivia's neck, pulling her into a fierce kiss that sent sparks through her nerves. Tongues met in an urgent dance, and Olivia's thoughts spun helplessly, guilt, desire, fear, until she closed her green eyes and let herself melt against him. With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned his white linen shirt, exposing the warm, muscular plane of his chest, flecked with dark hair.

He deepened the kiss, shifting his hands to her dress straps and easing them down her shoulders one by one. Olivia's pulse thundered as cool air brushed her bare skin. When Carlos freed her breasts, he claimed them with hungry lips, alternating gentle kisses with slow, deliberate sucks. Her breath hitched in a soft moan, pleasure and shame warring inside her.

Without breaking contact, he swept her into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom. There, he laid her across crisp sheets and continued to undress her. He slipped off her red heels, then leaned between her thighs. Olivia's heart stuttered as he teased aside her scarlet thong and tasted her arousal. His tongue worked expertly, circling her clit, plunging inside her warmth, while she urged him on in ragged whispers. When she begged for fingers, he obeyed, curling two of them with slow precision. Each thrust sent another wave of dizzying heat through her.

Miguelo! heavily intoxicated with wine, staggered at the door. His breath heavy with the pungent scent of alcohol. His eyes widened in shock as her moans pierced his ears like a siren's call. His heart thundered in his chest, and a primal urge surged through him, straining against the confines of his pants. He stumbled into the living room, driven by a feverish curiosity, and crept toward the bedroom door. Peering through the narrow opening, he was met with a sight that ignited a fire within him:

Carlos kneeling, mouth buried between Olivia's thighs, her thong forgotten to one side.

Miguelo leaned forward too much and startled Olivia.

She snapped her legs shut and sat up, cheeks aflame.

"Stop," she whispered, panic and shame lacing her words. "You have to go."

Carlos rose, calm and confident. "Why end this night when you might never feel anything more thrilling?" he asked softly.

Olivia's throat tightened. "Ethan will arrive any minute. If he finds out..."

Carlos' lips curved in a low smile. "He's still waiting for me to pick him up. He won't suspect a thing. And with Miguelo here... imagine the fun."

Her heart pounded. She'd never been with two men at once. The forbidden taunted her, Ethan's looming entrance, the risk, the excitement. Still, dread knotted her stomach. She stayed silent, unable to answer.

Miguelo advanced, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. Olivia curled her arms across her chest and leaned back. Carlos stepped forward and captured her lips once more. Olivia closed her eyes, torn between fear and longing, and let Miguelo's mouth find her breast as his hands ventured toward her trembling core.

Back to Ethan...

Ethan managed to slide into the taxi, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts as comes towards the AirBnB. The silence of his phone was deafening; not a single text from Carlos, Miguel, or Olivia. The uncertainty gnawed at him, a growing pit in his stomach. He tried to reassure himself, grasping at explanations like straws, they were just chatting, Carlos' phone had died, Olivia was fine, but the dread only intensified. Olivia had never given him reason to doubt her, but tonight, something felt different.

As the taxi pulled up to the AirBnB, Ethan's heart pounded in his chest like a drumbeat. He saw their rental car parked haphazardly, the front door of the house slightly ajar, casting an ominous shadow. He paid the driver, his hands trembling slightly as he stepped out of the car. The night air was thick with humidity and the distant hum of the city, but the house was silent, too silent.

He approached the front door, each step heavier than the last. The house seemed to hold its breath, the usual comforting creaks and settles eerily absent. As he neared the bedroom, his heart throbbed in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. Through the narrow gap in the door, he saw a scene that made his blood run cold.

Olivia was laid bare, her clothes discarded like shed skin. Carlos was beside her, his mouth pressed against hers in a passionate dance, while Miguel was nestled between her thighs, his dark hair contrasting sharply against her pale skin. Ethan's breath hitched, his body frozen in shock and betrayal. Anger surged through him, but he was rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

Carlos began to unfasten his trousers, revealing his length, a towering monument to his lust. Olivia hesitated, a moment of uncertainty that Miguel capitalized on. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers before he lowered his head once more, his tongue resuming its dance against her most intimate place. Olivia's mouth opened in a silent moan, and Carlos took his chance, pulling her head towards him, his hips thrusting gently as he slid into her mouth.

Ethan watched, his body a battleground of emotions. He was repulsed, angry, but also disturbingly aroused. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms, but he couldn't tear his gaze away. He needed to see how far Olivia would take this betrayal.

Olivia, surprised by Carlos' aggressive move, tentatively embraced his length. She was aroused, her body responding to the taboo thrill of the moment, the fear of Ethan walking in only heightening her excitement. She took Carlos deeper, her throat convulsing around him as she gagged slightly. Saliva spilled from her mouth, slicking her chin as she bobbed up and down, her eyes watering from the effort.

Carlos, panting, pulled away, giving Olivia a moment to breathe before he thrust back into her mouth. Meanwhile, Miguel had undressed, his body lean and taut. Olivia turned to him, her mouth wrapping around his length with a practiced ease that made Ethan's heart ache.

Carlos positioned himself between Olivia's legs, his hands tracing the curves of her body. Carlos entered her slowly without protection, he could feel the tightness of Olivia's heat as she enveloped him inch by inch. Her walls clenched around him like a vice, pulling him deeper inside her with each thrust. The sensation was both overwhelming and exhilarating...

Ethan watched from the shadows, his view obscene and explicit. He could hear every wet thrust, every moan that spilled from Olivia's lips while her mouth was wrapped around Miguelo's length. Carlos began to pick up his pace the bed creaked under their movements as Olivias moans filled the room.

The slick sounds of flesh against flesh, the harsh panting breaths, the raw moans of pleasure. Ethan stood frozen, his world crumbling around him, as he watched his wife with another man... with two other men. The night had taken a dark, twisted turn, and Ethan was left reeling, his heart shattered, his mind a storm of conflicted emotions.

Ethan spun around, heart pounding as he felt the desperate throbbing against his pants. He'd told himself this was the breaking point, he couldn't stand another second of it. Then Carlos's voice cut through the haze:

"Let's switch it up, doggy style?"

Olivia's protest came in a trembling whisper. "We've gone too far, Carlos. Ethan's right there."

"He can wait," Miguelo murmured, stepping forward with predatory calm.

Olivia's sundress slid to the floor at Miguelo's touch, and Carlos yanked off her panties in one swift motion. She stood utterly exposed, her round cheeks lifting into the air, vulnerable and trembling. Carlos and Miguelo traded places as easily as passing a torch. Miguelo's palm slapped her flesh, sending a shock of heat through her, then he lined himself at her entrance. With deliberate slowness he pushed in, her soft moan mingling pain with pleasure in the dim room.

Carlos gripped Olivia's hair, guiding her mouth onto his cock. Her lips clamped around him, every swallow a confession of both fear and craving. Somewhere behind her, Ethan listened, his gut twisting.

Ethan peered through the crack of the door and caught sight of Miguelo's hips pumping into Olivia's tight cunt. His breath hitched when Miguelo's hand drifted downward, fingers brushing the rim of her ass.

Ethan's eyes widened. Anal? Olivia had only ever toyed with plugs. She'd never crossed that line.

Olivia's back arched as Miguelo's fingertip circled her puckered hole. She glanced over her shoulder, lips parting in a silent plea, and let her hand slip into his. Carlos broke the moment, pulling his cock free of her mouth to capture her lips in a fierce kiss, shoving thoughts of Miguelo's invasion to the back of her mind.

"Tonight," Carlos whispered against her lips, "we surrender to every sensation."

A tremor of uncertainty passed through Olivia, but she nodded. Her arms relaxed, and Miguelo took that as his cue. He slid one finger in slow, feather-light, then added a second. Olivia's breath hitched in a small gasp of shock and something darker.

Ethan's blood pounded in his ears as he witnessed his wife's reluctant acquiescence.

Miguelo withdrew from her pussy, repositioned her on her side, and coated himself with spit. Inch by agonizing inch, his thick cock pressed against her tight anal ring. Olivia clenched the sheets so hard her knuckles whitened. The first millimeter burned, then opened into a searing stretch. With one final push, Miguelo bottomed out.

Olivia cried out, a raw blend of pain and fierce, unbidden pleasure.

Ethan pressed his face to the door, heart splitting. He watched Miguelo's hips rock, her anal cavity tightening around him, her moans soft at first, then growing guttural as each thrust drove deeper. Olivia's face contorted in waves of release, her tension melting away under the relentless rhythm.

In the dim glow, Ethan saw her transform: fear dissolving into abandon, her cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded in ecstatic surrender. Miguelo's hand slapped her ass, driving her forward onto every impale. Carlos's breaths came hard beside her, approving, urging.

... And Ethan, torn between rage and a twisted arousal, remained frozen, witnessing his wife's forbidden initiation, her body stretched and filled, every inch of her betraying boundaries she'd never dared cross until this overheated, forbidden night.

Ethan remained frozen, eyes locked on the scene of Olivia being brutally passed back and forth between Carlos and Miguelo, like a plaything for their savage lust. Carlos, panting like an animal, pushed for more, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

''Why don't we fill your pussy and ass at the same time?'' he growled.

Olivia hesitated, ''But... I'm not on contraceptives...''

Miguelo, leaned in, ''Don't you want to feel our hot cum deep inside your tight holes?''

Olivia, resigned, whispered, ''Let's do it...'' Her voice trembled, but her eyes were cold, calculating. Ethan didn't need to know about tonight.

Ethan's heart pounded in his chest, disbelief and rage coursing through his veins as he watched Olivia lower herself onto Carlos, his cock disappearing into her ass. She lay back against Carlos' chest, legs spread wide, inviting Miguelo to plunge into her pussy.

Ethan's stomach churned; he couldn't bear it any longer. He stormed out, Olivia's intense moans echoing behind him, a brutal symphony of Miguelo and Carlos ravaging her, their flesh slapping against hers.

Collapsing onto the sofa, Ethan booked the first flight back to England, his hands shaking with adrenaline.

Back in the bedroom, Olivia was overwhelmed by a raw, primal sensation that ravaged her every nerve, her body stretched and invaded, pain and pleasure fusing into a volatile cocktail. She splayed her legs wider, aching for more, and the boys took it as a silent scream for complete domination. With each punishing thrust, they gripped her tighter, their fingers branding her flesh, marking their territory.

Carlos' hands gripping onto Olivia's hips, holding her tightly as he thrust into her with a desperate need. Olivia's body trembling under him, her tight asshole clenching around his girth.

The intensity of Carlos' thrusts intensified, he moved his head back, releases a roar while he exploded deep in her ass. Oliva trembled as she can feel the warmth of his release spreading through her asshole.

Miguelo, with a final, feral thrust, flooded her pussy, his cock detonating within her.

Olivia's legs trembled, her body convulsing with a dark ecstasy.

Ethan, hearing their primal roars, knew they had claimed her completely. He could only imagine them taking their cocks out slowly of her wholes and a waves of sperm drippling out.

He left, slamming the door behind him, their marriage shattering into a million jagged pieces.