My Wife's Big Mouth Ch. 05

"You can take a seat anywhere, Mr. Rosen," the receptionist told me, sweeping her hand across the smartly appointed lobby.

Everything looked fresh and modern. No stodgy wood panels on the walls, no drapes on the windows, no carpet on the floor; it was all glass and tile and meticulously fabricated metalwork. I don't go into the city often, so I'm not accustomed to this kind of upscale, urban minimalist aesthetic. I kept my mouth shut and just nodded, afraid that anything I might say would reveal me as a country bumpkin who doesn't belong here, like the guy who asks for the jelly in those Polaner All Fruit ads.

I chose a smoothly upholstered couch-chair hybrid and began browsing the reading material artfully fanned out on the funky coffee table in front of me. Lawyers Weekly was prominent among the offerings, but no way I was going to read that shit. The crisp, uncreased cover suggested no one does. I picked up The Wall Street Journal instead.

I don't often bother with newspapers, unless I'm lining a birdcage, but I find the Journal a tad more reliable than most. I assume the ruling class needs to know what's actually going on in the world, the better to propagandize the rest of us. I crossed my legs, snapped the paper open with two hands, and flipped to the "World" section. Most of the articles made my eyes glaze over, but then a provocative headline jumped out at me: "DEI: Level Playing Field or Long Con?"

I'm not some reactionary nob who gets triggered by the notion that people of all races deserve equal dignity in the workplace -- unlike a certain hockey dad who is fucking my wife -- but my curiosity was piqued. The article was about Tencent Holdings Limited, which I had never heard of before. Apparently it is one of the most valuable companies in the world, a massive Chinese conglomerate with an equity stake in hundreds of businesses around the globe. According to the article, Tencent is under investigation by the Securities and Exchange Commission for allegedly deploying a fraudulent investment scheme that an anonymous corporate whistleblower dubbed "the Shenzhen Two-Step."

I was only a few paragraphs into the article, but already I was hooked. The first step, I learned, was to target a well-run company by planting stories in media outlets -- owned by Tencent of course -- about how profits are stagnating under a legacy ownership group that lacks diversity. That causes the stock price to drop, allowing Tencent to profit by short selling -- using a network of shell companies -- before, eventually, buying the dip. Once Tencent owns enough shares to get a seat on the board of directors, step two begins. The newly-installed director uses her -- it's always "her" -- influence to push out the company's most competent managers in favor of "diversity hires" with little experience in the industry. When their bad decisions inevitably drive the stock even lower, with the shell companies shorting it all the way down, Tencent acquires majority ownership on the cheap. The name proves prophetic as it snaps up businesses for ten cents on the dollar.

The article was so engrossing that I lost track of time. When I finally finished it, I needed to get up and stretch my legs, so I wandered over to the coffee station in the corner of the room, where I began fiddling with the knobs on a chrome-plated espresso machine. It took me a minute to get the contraption working, but eventually I figured it out and managed to fill a dainty little cup.

"Damn fine cup of coffee, isn't it?"

I recognized the voice before I even turned around.

"Seth, thanks for seeing me."

"Of course, Mike. Sorry to keep you waiting. Come to my office, let's catch up."

With that, my cousin led me down a book-lined hallway, where we navigated a maze of cubicles until we reached a sprawling corner office adorned with his nameplate. "Right in here," he said, holding the door for me.

Stepping into Seth's office, I was in awe. It looked more like a man cave than a place of business. I didn't see any law books, but there was a wall-mounted television, a refrigerator, a foosball table, a putting green, and even a full-sized golf simulator impact screen.

"What, no pickleball court?" I asked sarcastically.

My cousin smiled. "I'm a member at Bosse," he said with a shrug.

Of course he is, I thought to myself. Looking around at all the trappings of my cousin's success, my own career was beginning to feel embarrassingly small. When I remembered why I was here in the first place, I felt even smaller.

Seth must have sensed me withdrawing into self-pity because he tried to coax me back out. "Here," he said, handing me a Calloway. "You were always the best athlete in the family. Show me how it's done."

I chuckled ruefully at his faint praise. Being the best athlete in the Rosen family was like being the smartest Kardashian -- or the classiest Sarducci. I set a dimpled ball on the rubber tee, addressed it with head of the club as I limbered up my wrists, then took a full cut, missing it entirely. "That was a practice swing," I said sheepishly.

Seth gave me a friendly slap on the back. "Drive for show, putt for dough, right? Try again."

Somehow his encouragement helped me center myself. I felt my shoulders loosen and my balance return as I stomped my front foot into the turf, shifted my weight and smashed my next shot.

"Two hundred twenty-six yards right down the middle!" my cousin announced, his voice tinged with pride as if I had hit a real fairway. "I knew you could do it!"

"Yeah, now all I need are the goofy pants and a fat ass," I replied snidely.

Seth recognized the reference and chortled with appreciation. "Sandman!" he exclaimed. "Love it!"

For the next few minutes, it was like we were kids again, transported back to our summer camp days. We laughed our asses off trading Adam Sandler quotes, each more outlandish and vulgar than the last. By the time I belted out my Tollbooth Willie impression, Seth was doubled over, scarcely able to breathe. "You forgot to pay the fuckin' toll you dirty whore! I'll fuckin' drop you with a boot to the fuckin' skull you cum guzzling queen!"

When my cousin finally regained his composure, he slayed me with his over-the-top affectation of a talking goat. "Fuck me in the goat ass!" he brayed absurdly.

We howled with laughter.

It must have taken ten minutes before we could speak normally. "Oh my goodness, that takes me back," Seth sighed with nostalgia as he wiped a tear from his eye. "But I assume you didn't come here to reminisce. What brings you in today?"

"A cum guzzling queen," I deadpanned.

Seth looked at me quizzically. He could tell

from my stolid tone that I wasn't joking this time. "What do you mean?"

I hesitated for a moment, worried that I might be about to open Pandora's box, but I banished those doubts and forged ahead. "I mean my wife."

"Cindy?" Seth asked incredulously.

I nodded, my lips pursed grimly.

My cousin's expression lost its playful contours, his face enfolded in apprehension. "She's as straight-laced as they come," he responded. "What did she do?"

Before answering, I touched may neck with my hand, but nothing was there. I had removed the body camera and smashed it with a hammer, but the warm plastic sensation against my skin never entirely left me. I could still feel its phantom presence around my throat, gnawing at the edges of my awareness, and I had an instinctive need to confirm that we weren't being recorded. After soothing my anxiety, I exhaled loudly, then began telling my cousin the background. At first, I tried to sanitize the story, as much to preserve my own dignity as my wife's, but eventually I was giving Seth all the sordid details.

I told him about how that churlish douche nozzle Rocco had goaded my drunken wife into a foolish bet. I told him how I fucked up and managed to escalate the bet into the "Forty-Way Parlay," the terms of which Rocco later altered, while still threatening to carry out more "challenge cards."

To his credit, Seth tried to defend Cindy's honor. "No fucking chance! He'll never win," my cousin vowed.

I admired his confidence, but my own had been beaten out of me. "I used to think like you," I said brutally, letting the past tense do its work.

I went on to describe my wife's threesome with Bridget and Rocco in the hot tub; her threesome with Sam's hockey coaches, Matt and Todd; and her threesome with Rocco and Bridget's disabled, disgusting Uncle Anthony. I held nothing back. I told him how Cindy got face-fucked, face-slapped, tit-slapped, dick-whipped, finger-banged, ass-spanked, held down on a cock, held under water, spit on, cummed on and double-teamed like a whore. By the time I was done admitting that my wife took it in the ass from an old man in a wheelchair, the color had vanished from Seth's face, leaving him pallid and forlorn. I watched this swaggering lawyer transform before my eyes into a crestfallen cream puff.

I prattled on for a few more minutes, sharing my curiosity about Cindy's former teacher, Ms. McKenzie, and the cryptic message she left in her high school yearbook, but I'm not sure Seth was listening any longer. My story seemed to bounce off his forehead. He had a dazed look and his mouth hung agape, walloped by the deluge of shocking facts that continued to pour out of me. It was only when I mentioned Bridget's company, MasterBettor, that I saw signs of life rekindle behind his eyes.

"Whoa whoa whoa," Seth cut me off, raising his palm like a stop sign. "MB is involved with this shit?"

If anyone else had casually called the company by its initials like that, I would have found it painfully pretentious. But not Seth. Seth is a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy. He is as sharp as they come, but he doesn't put on airs or try to impress anyone. He's the genuine article: a lawyer's lawyer. He's no stranger to the seamy underbelly of corporate America, so it makes sense that he would be passing familiar with MasterBettor. That's why I came to him, after all.

"Hell yes MB is involved," I confirmed. "Why, what do you know?"

My cousin glanced over at the door, as if making sure it was shut, then answered me in a hushed voice. "A lot," he confided. "I know a guy on the Gaming Commission. Every now and then he sends me a hot tip."

"Blue Horseshoe loves Anacott Steel," I intoned.

Seth snorted. "Yeah, something like that."

I waited for him to elaborate, but suddenly he clammed up. "So... what did this guy tell you?" I finally asked.

He checked the door again. My hand went back to my neck. "For one thing," Seth began, keeping his voice low, "he told me the company is mobbed up."

I nodded grimly, while Seth continued. "But they're trying to launder all that blood money and go legit. My guy tells me they just completed a Series C and now they're prepping for an IPO."

"That tracks," I replied, "I overheard Bridget and Bob fighting about who owns what shares, who is getting diluted, that kind of shit."

My cousin cocked an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Did they say who?"

"They didn't name names. Whoever it is, they referred to him as a 'lightning rod.' What do you think that's all about?"

Seth's eyes bore into me and a shrewd look crossed his face. I could tell he was already thinking a few steps ahead. "Rocco calls you 'Big Pussy,' right?"

"Yeah," I whispered, more from embarrassment than any concern about being overheard.

"So he is a fan of The Sopranos."

"He's a fan of banging my wife," I shot back. "Who gives a shit?"

Seth ignored my irritation, keeping his composure. "And Bridget encourages him?"

"Yeah," I said flatly, wondering where he was going with this.

"Remember when Junior becomes the boss? Tony is really in charge, but he lets Junior have the title, right?"

"I remember."

"'Thinks he's the king of kings,'" Seth said, doing a surprisingly good Gandolfini impression. "'The truth is, every decision is made by me.'"

A wistful smile embroidered my face as I recalled the scene.

"And what does Silvio say to that?" he asked rhetorically before switching up his voice. "'Now we got a brand new lightning rod on top to take the hits.'"

"Ah ha," I said, tapping my temple. My dumb ass was starting to catch on. "Smart. Very smart."

"I'm sure they think so," Seth sniffed dismissively, his voice cold. "But you and I will show those wife-snatching schmucks who they're fucking with."

I know I said my confidence had been beaten out me, but when my cousin said that, I could feel it returning. I rubbed my hands together, giddy with anticipation. "So what's the plan?"

"You track down Ms. McKenzie," he said. "My assistant can look her up for you on Westlaw. While you're doing that, I'm going to do some digging into MB."

I left my cousin's office with a renewed sense of purpose and an address scrawled on a piece of paper. As I plugged it into Maps, I realized I was headed to the rich side of town.

When I arrived, I pulled my shitty Subaru into a circular driveway and parked next to a sleek Mercedes S-Class, with "OO" on the custom license plate. Exiting my car, I found myself looking up at an imposing limestone mansion sitting on manicured lawns, a citadel of wealth surrounded by a sea of green. Pretty nice spread, I thought to myself, wondering how Ms. McKenzie could afford it on a teacher's salary.

As I approached the double front doors made of dark mahogany, set deep within a carved archway and illuminated by twin candelabra sconces, I marveled at the home's commanding beauty. I was only fifteen minutes from my own house, but a world away.

Before I could ring the bell, my phone buzzed with an incoming text message. It was my wife, wondering where I am. I couldn't tell her the truth, but our phones share data, so Cindy could find my location if she wanted to. A careless lie might be easily revealed. Suddenly, I felt stressed. I am not accustomed to sneaking around, nor am I good at it. I don't care what they say about a life of deception being the charm of marriage; for me, it's exhausting. Finally, I hit on the idea to tell her that I was checking out a garage sale to see if there was any used hockey equipment that Sam might need. That should stick.

I rang the bell and waited. After a minute, an elegant, dark-haired lady appeared behind the doors' beveled glass panels and greeted me through an intercom.

This time, I went with the truth, plainly stating the reason for my visit. That must have worked because one of the heavy doors swung open and I was invited in.

Standing just inside the doorway was the woman I came to see, the mysterious Ms. McKenzie. I introduced myself for the second time and she told me her name is Kristine, but she goes by Kris. Kris was stunner. She looked exactly the way she did in Cindy's yearbook. Even though that picture was taken more than fifteen years ago, she hadn't aged a day. As she ushered me inside her palatial home, I didn't see the finely-crafted furnishings or the artwork on her walls. I only saw the artwork right in front of me, wearing a flowy, lemon-print sundress and walking with a saucy twist in her hips.

Kris led me into a spacious sitting room, gracefully gesturing in the direction of a high-backed chair. As she half-turned to face me, I feasted my eyes on her generous bust line, filling out the top of her sundress to glorious perfection. She gave me a slight smile, as if to acknowledge the compliment I was paying her with my stare, which hastened me to my seat. Not wanting to be caught ogling her big tits again, I cast my gaze around the room, taking in my lush surroundings. Tall windows afforded a view of the grounds, dramatically framed by floor-to-ceiling drapes. A cream-colored, Persian rug anchored the space, which featured a marble fireplace at one end and a clutch of potted plants at the other. Kris sat down across from me in a jewel-toned sofa, folding her hands in her lap. In contrast to her opulent home, her hands were conspicuously unadorned. I noticed that she didn't wear a wedding ring.

Almost as soon as she sat down, however, she stood back up. "Where are my manners? Can I get you some tea?"

"That would be lovely," I said, watching the hem of her dress swish against her comely legs as she left the room.

When Kris returned, I was inspecting the gold-and-blue coat of arms hanging above the fireplace. "Your family crest is very impressive," I said, making awkward small talk.

Kris let out a little laugh as she set down the tray of tea beside me. "It's not my family any longer," she said with a shrug. "But I kept Dr. McKenzie's name even after the divorce. Why not? I figured I took everything else. Might as well take that, too."

"It looks like you got quite the haul," I said, looking around to admire the grandeur of the room.

"Oh, he got plenty, believe me," she replied querulously. "I got everything that was old and expensive. He took everything that was cheap and underage."

With that loaded comment hanging thickly in the air, I decided to change the subject and get down to brass tacks. "Do you mind if I ask how you know my wife Cindy?"

Kris took a sip of her tea, then gave me a grin. Maybe I didn't change the subject after all.

"I was her high school chemistry teacher," she said with a playfully haughty tone, "but I don't suppose that is what you're asking about. What is really on your mind?"

I stammered, too distracted by her crossing and uncrossing her legs to give a proper reply. "Um, I, ah... I read what you wrote in her, um, yearbook and it seemed like, I don't know, maybe there was, um, a bit more to your relationship."

"I see," Kris said, before lifting her teacup to her lips.

The silence made me uncomfortable, so I volunteered something more. "Perhaps you knew her from the honor society?"

Kris almost spit out her tea. "You must be joking," she sputtered, before her laughter turned to pity. "Oh dear, you're serious?"

"Yes," I said, as my cheeks began to burn. "Cindy is a doctor now, a psychiatrist, and I understand she was a straight A student back in high school. Am I wrong?"

"I seem to recall she was more of a 'scarlet A' student, actually," Kris replied, an inscrutable smile curling her lips.

I said I didn't understand without words, just a furrowed forehead and a befuddled squint.

"Have some of your tea," Kris suggested, her tone and her body language softening. "I'll tell you what I know."

I took a sip, taking care not to slurp in front of my genteel hostess.

Apparently satisfied, Kris began. "You'll forgive me for being blunt, but at my age, I don't have much use for discretion. And somehow I don't think you went to all this trouble just to hear hollow pieties about Cindy Bloom," she said, using my wife's maiden name. "You came for the truth, am I right?"

I nodded silently, suddenly afraid that my tongue might slit my throat. I hid behind my teacup as Kris continued.

"The truth is that Cindy was a middling student. Not a stupid girl, necessarily, but certainly not one of the brightest either." Kris paused to let that sink in. She scrutinized me closely, looking for signs of surprise, I imagine, but I kept my emotions in check, too beguiled by her ageless beauty to risk letting my feelings show on my face.

"One day, I caught Cindy cheating. Her lab partner, Cale, was doing her assignments for her, while she did nothing. Well, not nothing. Cale told me how she persuaded him to do all her lab reports." Kris punctuated that sentence with an arched eyebrow, as if to ask whether I wanted the particulars.

I remained expressionless.

"Let's just say she begged him on her knees," Kris added, studying my reaction.

"I've heard worse," I said with a flirtatious smile, hoping to conceal my sense of crumbling despair -- if not from her, then at least from myself. "And I see you still have some use for discretion."

It was Kris' turn to smile. "Let's see how you feel when I finish," she responded with a voice both husky and hale. She was flirting right back.

"Let's," I accepted. I felt woozy. I was glad to be sitting down.

"Mind you," said Kris, picking up where she left off, "Cindy wasn't the first student of mine who cheated. Every now and again, some poor muddlehead would try to write the answers on his hand or crib from his neighbor's paper."

I chuckled. "The classics."

"Yes. But Cindy was the only one who whored herself out in the exchange." Kris seemed to take pleasure in calling my wife a whore. I tore my eyes away from her big tits long enough to see the way her emerald eyes sparkled with delight while she said it.

"I felt she deserved a zero, of course, but Cindy pleaded with me to let her make up the work. I never wanted any student to fail my class, and I never wanted to fail as their teacher, so I agreed to give her a second chance. I told Cindy she could pass if she started staying after school for extra help."

"That was generous of you," I offered.

"And naive," Kris countered, knitting her eyebrows like stormclouds on the horizon. "But at first it worked out and Cindy managed to get her grades up. Eventually, I offered to move our sessions to my house and she agreed."

While Kris told me about helping Cindy with her chemistry studies, I felt a rumbling in my pocket. I disceetly pulled out my phone and saw it was another text from my wife. I expected she might be asking when I would be home or whether I found anything good at the garage sale. Instead, it was a selfie, taken outside in our backyard. She was standing in the middle of my patchy lawn, modeling a barely-there, front-tie bikini in a pale blue-on-silver leopard print. The bottoms were high cut, with fashionably long side ties, while the top featured thin shoulder straps, a plunging neckline, and a single tie in the middle, the laces dangling down to her stomach, the cups just barely containing those splendiferous breasts. Beneath the stunning image was a text. "Do you like this pic, Daddy? I think it shows off my huge... tracts of land."

I stared agog at the photo, until it disappeared as quickly as it arrived, replaced by a notification that read, "You unsent a message." It figures, I thought. Cindy would never take a lurid photo like that for my enjoyment. And since when does she wear bikinis? My wife usually wears something so fucking conservative that it might as well be an old-time "bathing costume" -- and then she puts a beach shawl over that!

Kris signaled her dwindling patience by noisily clearing her throat. I shoved the phone back in my pocket and apologized.

"Shall I continue?" she asked.

"Please do."

"So Cindy began coming here for tutoring. One day, my husband was here and they met. She was seventeen at the time and Ralph was fifty-two. He was a quite a bit older than me -- still is," she laughed.

"Anyway, I didn't know it yet, but my husband became smitten with this beautiful young girl and they began having a secret affair. It was all very hush hush. I only found out about it by accident when I happened to check our security camera and I saw the little trollop coming and going from the house when I wasn't around."

"And how did that make you feel?" I unadroitly asked. As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to kick myself.

But Kris just let out another little light-hearted laugh. "You really are married to a psychiatrist, aren't you?"

I was more enchanted by this woman by the minute. Not only was she stunning, feminine and chic, but she had a disarmingly self-assured mien. "For now," I replied, mirroring her smile. "Let's see how I feel when you finish."

"Very well," Kris allowed. "And for the record, I felt horrible when I found out Ralph was carrying on with one of my students behind my back. I felt like a worthless piece of shit: betrayed by the man I married and a student I looked out for."

I stopped bantering and listened as Kris told me the rest of her story.

"The worst part was when I saw where they were doing their dirty business: in my bed."

"Saw?"

"Oh yes. I saw everything. Ralph liked to record their little dalliances. That's how I ended up with 'quite the haul,' as you put it. I might have turned those videos over to the Board of Registration in Medicine or -- worse yet -- the police. Instead, I destroyed them, but I made sure it cost the bastard dearly."

"Living well is the best revenge," I avowed.

"What I did to Cindy is the best revenge," Kris corrected me, a trace of malice in her voice.

"What did you do?"

"I could tell you," she said coyly before lowering her voice to a whisper. "But I'd rather show you."

With that, Kris stood up, ran her hands down the front of her sundress, smoothing imaginary wrinkles, and walked out of the room. I followed closely behind, checking out her taut ass the entire way.

She led me up a marble staircase to the master bedroom. It was elegantly empty, but for a writing desk tucked into one corner. The centerpiece was a king-sized bed with a giant tufted headboard and an unpaired nightstand, a solitary monument to her divorce.

As we entered, Kris touched a digital panel cleverly concealed in the wainscoting and the doors of a custom cabinet opened to reveal a retractable television set. Another touch dimmed the lights. I could feel my blood pressure galloping. Sweat matted the hair at my temples. What was happening here?

"I know I said I destroyed the videos, but that's not entirely true. I kept one. A memento, I suppose, or a trophy. Ralph shot this a few weeks after Cindy's eighteenth birthday...."

While Kris talked, vintage home movie footage lit up the screen.

"By this time," she narrated, as I sat on her bed and watched with rapt attention, "I had already confronted Ralph. He tried to gaslight me at first, but the tape doesn't lie. His fate was in my hands and I made sure he knew it. I still remember quoting the marketing pablum from his website. I told him if he wanted to continue holding himself out as a 'nationally-renowned surgeon, as celebrated for his artistry as his techical skill, and a pathbreaking innovator in his field,' then he would do exactly what I told him to do."

"What is his field anyway?" I asked absentmindedly.

If Kris answered, I didn't hear her. All my attention was riveted to the screen. I couldn't look away. The grainy video was a portal taking me back to a time I had ached for without even knowing it. The picture was soft and slightly out of focus, with oversaturated colors broken up by occasional waves of static. Dr. Ralph McKenzie was the man brandishing the camcorder; his voice could be heard off-screen. "Come on out, let me see!" he called, his words sounding distorted as they cut through the constant hum of the camera.

When a door opened and Cindy walked into view wearing a short schoolgirl skirt and thigh-high socks, demurely covering her bare chest with her hands, the image seared itself into my soul, while my breath froze in my lungs. The world around me melted away. This was my wife in her stunning prime, when her alluring powers of attraction were at their pinnacle. She was eighteen years old, glowing with youth and possessed of an effortless grace. Her lush honey-blonde hair, electric blue eyes, pouty lips and perfect pink complexion conspired to create a surfeit of beauty that left me awestruck. She was heaven on earth.

"Drop your hands," Dr. McKenzie commanded, "I want to see."

So did I.

I leaned forward on the bed.

Kris anticipated the action on screen. "Cindy had big natural breasts. They were enviable, to be honest, but she thought they sagged too much. You know how self-critical girls can be. Ralph told me she was pestering him to give her a breast lift as an eighteenth birthday present. It's probably the reason she was fucking him in the first place -- just ask Cale."

I tightened my lips into a grimace, silently acknowledging her point while I remained fixated on the television.

"I forced Ralph to relent and agree to give her the procedure. But I had a surprise in store for that little hussy. She thought she was only getting a lift, but I made sure she got an augmentation, too," Kris said darkly before sitting next to me on the bed so she could whisper in my ear. "Cindy was already busty, but I wanted her to look like the bimbo whore she really is."

I got body chills all over.

Her timing was perfect. I could still feel Kris' warm breath in my ear when, on screen, Cindy dropped her hands and folded them behind her back, exposing her sumptuous melon-sized tits to the camera. "Do you like them?" Cindy asked, girlishly tilting her head and looking up with big pleading eyes.

"I should," Dr. McKenzie responded admiringly. "They're mine."

"Show me," Cindy demanded.

The camcorder lens jittered, then came to a rest. When Dr. McKenzie stepped into the scene, I realized he had put the camera down, leaving both hands free. He began caressing Cindy's full, sinuous breasts, greedily squishing and squeezing the supple flesh. With sparse, grizzled hair combed over his bald spot and démodé trousers pulled up well above his waist, he certainly looked the part of an older gentleman, but his age was even more evident in his experienced touch. He knew exactly what he was doing. The same hands that sculpted those massive beauties were now massaging them into erogenous bliss, expertly manipulating her nipples until her pretty face was flush with lust. His wrinkled, paper-thin skin contrasted against a teenager's flawless tits made the scene powerfully arousing. By the time Dr. McKenzie began licking, nibbling and nipping, alternating from one to the other with his hungry mouth, Cindy was panting and moaning like a dog.

When he had her in a lather, Dr. McKenzie stepped back, shuffled off his pants and sat down in an overstuffed fauteuil facing the camera, a king on his throne. "Now it's your turn to show me your gratitude."

Cindy took a few tentative steps forward, her skirt swishing against her upper thighs, then sank to her knees in front of him. Her golden ringlets bounced gently as she knelt in obedience.

While Cindy moved her head languidly around Dr. McKenzie's cock, I felt a warm pressure on my crotch. Startled, I looked down to see Kris' hand, the nails painted lemon yellow to match her dress.

"Let me help you relax," she cooed in my ear. "It's about to get good."

This was a fateful moment and I knew it. I came here to gather intel, and my mission was a smashing success, but now the bill was coming due. I knew Kris had her own reasons for sharing her secrets with me. On the surface, she appeared cool and calm, but divulging the humiliating events that led to her divorce had dredged up hurt feelings. I could hear it in her voice. She wanted to seduce Cindy's husband the way Cindy had seduced hers.

I could have brushed her away. But I didn't. I just sat there staring at the screen. Palsied with arousal, I let her rub my cock through the front of my pants while I watched fuzzy amateur video of my wife in high school blowing her teacher's husband. "Good boy," Kris said with a smile as she traced the contours of my erection with her fingers, tucking the fabric around my bulge to make me harder.

I could hear Cindy noisily englutting herself on Dr. McKenzie's cock while his ravishing ex-wife handled mine. Cindy gave out adorably mousy whimpers and sighs of satisfaction as she slurped away.

I was so deep in my voyeur bag that I didn't notice Kris unbuttoning my pants. I just felt the cool air on my hot dick before her silky wet mouth engulfed it, taking me to the back of her throat -- or as close as I can get anyway. She was still sitting next to me on the bed, leaning over to bob in my lap. For awhile, Kris continually rotated her head, never satisfied with any one angle of approach for too long, like a magpie pecking at a shiny object. But then she settled into a groove, resting her head against my stomach, cutely snuggling me while she tugged her lips up and down my length. That way, she could watch the video with me, which turned her on.

I don't know how long I reveled in the twin pleasures of having my dick sucked while watching my young wife suck a much older man. I was lost in lascivious pleasure. So was Cindy. She squealed with delight when Dr. McKenzie placed a hand on her head and began vigorously humping her mouth, while he palmed her plentiful bosom with the other. She thrust out her rack to meet his insatiable grasping, clearly in the throes of desire. She looks like the prom queen giving head, I thought, before remembering that Cindy actually was the prom queen that year. The prom queen whose crown was an older gentleman's firm hand, clenched around her beautiful hair, while she was topless on her sock-covered knees, welcoming his dick deep in her throat. When he had his fill, the doctor stood up, slid his rod out of Cindy's mouth, covered in her spit, and maneuvered her onto her back, head on the floor.

As I watched my wife lay down, Kris made my dick poke the inside of her cheek, keeping me hard, then she let me slip out of her mouth with a wet pop. "I told him to do this," she said, then continued playing my dick like a harmonica.

The old buzzard circled his prey. "Now I'm going to rub my cock all over your pretty face," he told her.

He proceeded to leave behind a string of saliva as he dragged his dick across her cheeks, batting her nose back and forth with the head. Taking special care to touch every surface of her face, Dr. McKenzie tapped both of her eyelids with his cock, then left it to sit on her cheek before smacking her repeatedly. "Hit me with that dick, sir!" she wailed.

Through the static, Kris and I watched Dr. McKenzie give an evil grin and oblige, smacking her face harder and harder with his cock, mashing it into her closed mouth and then methodically paddling her cheeks, nose and forehead with it.

"Tell me you like that, slut!" he demanded.

Cindy reacted to being called a "slut" like her pussy had been licked by tongues of fire. "I like it, sir!" she confessed, her voice whiny and cracked. "I like it when you dick slap me!"

I was close to cumming in Kris' mouth when Dr. McKenzie spit on Cindy's face, then spread it all over with his cock. When her face was covered in a film of saliva, he drummed his engorged glans against her sticky skin, turning her cheeks red. After the battering she took, all while he called her his "teenage whore," my blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel was punch drunk and needy for the doctor's hard dick.

Kris moaned around my shaft as she picked up the pace. She was sucking my dick for all she's worth, but I felt myself struggling to stay hard, worried that my erection might not hold. As soon as the possibility that this might end in failure occurred to me, I was in my head about it. I felt a twitch in my dick, like it might be flagging, even as Kris amazed me with her mouth. It wasn't until what Dr. McKenzie said next that I recovered my strength.

"Do you want my cum little girl?"

He stopped slapping Cindy with his dick, leaving her moon-eyed while he waited for her answer.

"I want your cum, sir! Please give me your cum!"

"If I give you that load, will you do whatever I say?"

I had pins and needles in my head, chest and feet, waiting for Cindy's answer.

She strained her neck, foraging for his dick with an eager mouth, but he withheld it from her, leaving Cindy to pout. "You don't get that load unless you'll do whatever I say."

When she didn't answer right away, Dr. McKenzie smacked her again with his cock.

"Yes, sir!" Cindy whimpered in petulant surrender. "I'll do whatever you say!" There she was, the woman who would become my wife, a submissive eighteen year-old slut who traded blowjobs for a boob job.

"That's a good little one," Dr. McKenzie said, affectionately stroking her cheek with his dick. She leaned into it like a cat who wants to be pet, humming contentedly.

After letting her nuzzle his nutsack with her nose and chin, Dr. McKenzie presented his cock to Cindy's lips like it was a reward. Watching this hot-titted schoolgirl give a blissed-out blowjob was all I could take. Kris dug her hands into my thighs as she sucked as hard and fast as she could, her curled-up body joining the effort, until I managed to spew a meager load in her mouth. She gamely swallowed it down, but I know it wasn't much. I felt lucky I didn't go soft before it happened.

Kris sat straight up, looked me in the eyes and said, "Thank you for that. You taste so good."

Hearing her sweetly thank me for cumming in her mouth gave me a satisfaction that I hadn't felt in a long time. Any guilt I might have had at cheating on my wife vanished the moment Kris swallowed my cum and then gave me a grateful look in those emerald eyes.

I may have been done, but Dr. McKenzie was still busy feeding his dick to the top-heavy teenage whore lying on his rug. He was working it in and out of her abused, puffy lips. "You're going to do whatever I say," he groaned while pressing himself against her face.

"Ymmmmph smmmmmmm!" Cindy mewled in response.

"Ahhhhhh! Take it you fucking slut!" The horny old surgeon thrust violently, then shook in place as he unloaded down her throat. Cindy gulped down shot after shot of his semen until Dr. McKenzie pulled out and fired the last few ropes of cum from point blank range, leaving her glazed while he walked off screen. Momentarily, the camera moved, zooming in on her face. Cindy's guilty smile was the last image before the movie ended, retreating into a tiny white dot in the center of the screen, gradually fading to black.

When I finally looked back at Kris, she had the same smile. When I told her I had to go, but I would call her, her smile grew even warmer. She couldn't hide the yearning look that crossed her face.

By the time I made it to my car, I had a new text. It was Seth. "Crazy news about MB! Call me!"

My hand trembled as I called my cousin.

Seth got straight to the point. "I looked into MasterBettor," he said confidently, "and I've got all the goods."

"Go on."

"The lightning rod... it's you!" he exclaimed. "They put shares in your name!"

"I own the company?" I asked, my head reeling from the unexpected news.

"Um no," Seth chided me. "But you do own a piece of it."

"Holy shit!" I blurted. "But why?"

"I can't say for sure," Seth went on in his lawyerly way. "But my theory is that it was Bridget's backup plan, in case she couldn't get your signature on that contract. If you ever complained that Cindy had been coerced into performing online, they could show that Cindy's husband has an undisclosed interest in the company."

My hands were shaking so much that I had to pull over to the side of the road. You're no surgeon, I thought to myself, unsteadily putting the car into park.

"There's more," Seth continued. "MasterBettor is officially going public. The IPO has been confirmed for this week."

It was my turn to chide him. "That sounds like public information," I said. "Tell me something that isn't."

"The SEC is already investigating," he said, accepting my challenge. "Three weeks from today, they're going to make a formal announcement. You know -- they have to give all those Senators time to close out their positions first."

Three weeks from now, we have a hockey tournament, the annual Pee Wee Classic. Rocco will be there. All of them will be there.

I processed that, formulating a plan, then I pulled back onto the road, speeding toward home.

"What do you want to do?" my cousin asked. "There are a few ways we can play this."

"I know exactly what I want to do," I said portentously, my grip firm on the wheel. "The Shenzhen Two-Step."

*******

Cindy and I lay portable seat cushions next to each other on the freezing cold metal bench, ten concrete-stepped rows up from rink level. It was good to be out of the car. It had been a long drive to Danbury, Connecticut, made longer by the burden of pretending everything is normal. At least we weren't driving home tonight. We had a hotel for the weekend. This place wasn't exactly exciting -- what do you expect from "Hat City" -- but I was looking forward to the tournament, hoping to get some alone time with my wife... and waiting expectantly for the SEC announcement to detonate.

Cindy and I settled into familiar company as we watched Sam down on the ice taking warm up shots with his teammates. Bob was back in skates, going over the line sheet with Todd and Matt. Bridget was close by, talking with some of the other hockey moms. Rocco was holding court as usual, loudly telling dirty jokes with a few of the dads. At least, I thought they were jokes. I caught him looking over at Cindy -- and not in the eyes. He just gave me a smirk and quietly tugged on his necklace ornament. It wasn't his customary Italian horn. It was a black camera lens.

Cindy was doing nothing to discourage him from gawking. On the contrary, depite the chilly temperature in the arena, somehow her winter jacket was wide open in the front. The Cindy I married wrapped herself in full-coverage, oversized parkas, trying to hide her chest. Now she was in an attention-grabbing, "mob wife chic" coat, with oversized cuffs made of fur. It was a tight fit, designed to accentuate her blessings.

When Rocco looked over at me, I didn't blink. Even if it meant staring directly into that rough mug of his, I was determined to meet his gaze. When I did look away, it was to check my new brokerage account. I watched the red numbers scroll across my smartphone screen like blood dripping down glass. A market correction was underway -- MSTRB was down 9% since the bell.

I smiled. My put options were already in the money and I was just getting started.

In the lead up to MasterBettor going public, the company had been riding high on a wave of good press. They were the darling of Wall Street, projected to be a $4 billion pipeline monster. Permabulls like Jim Kramer were predicting a runaway success and saw the stock poised to break records.

But that was before Seth Rosen, Esq. wing-tipped into the arena. From the minute my cousin agreed to take my case, he made it his mission to fuck Bridget's company in the goat ass. Working behind the scenes, Seth did what he always does -- quietly, without fanfare, he set his client up for success. Luckily that client was me.

Seth used his contacts at Barstool Sports and other online media to get the word out that MasterBettor was just a meme stock and its cash flow to debt ratio was shit. ZeroHedge did a deep dive into its business model and concluded that MasterBettor is at risk of insolvency because it does not keep cash on hand sufficient to cover every dollar in play -- despite what state regulators require. Harry Markopolos co-signed that conclusion, appearing on a podcast to argue that the company's proprietary handicapping system is flawed and takes on unnecessary risk when setting the line on certain types of wagers. As he described in detail, the house was giving away its edge because its oddsmakers were incompetent morons.

With high-profile platforms chumming the waters, soon there was a feeding frenzy among finanical media, with seemingly everyone suddenly bearish on MasterBettor.

Meanwhile, I had already been shorting the stock through a shell fund that Seth's firm created. He wanted to call it Cuck Holdings, Limited, but I refused, so in the end we settled on Red Rocket Capital. I was buying puts, swaps, even naked shorts through offshore accounts. You can't catch the wave if you're not in the water, so I was in. All in. I was literally betting the house: I took out a second mortage to fund my trades.

I knew the only way win this game was not to play by their rules. I was done making bets with Rocco and done letting Bridget play me for a fool. I wanted them ruined -- the way they ruined my once-respectable wife. Speaking of whom, I hadn't decided what to do with her yet.

As dumb as I can sometimes be, by now it had dawned on me that Cindy isn't the wholesome girl-next-door I thought she was. She isn't the innocent, intellectual type she wants to be seen as, either. That's just a disguise for the sex devil inside her. The real Cindy knows damn well that every man wants to fuck her and is constantly tempted to let them -- if they'll make it worth her while. Now that I knew she passed high school chemistry on her knees, I had to question all of her academic achievements. Did she titty fuck her way through med school? My mind was reeling when I remembered that she has published several articles in prestigious medical journals -- all of them co-authored with a man.

It was intensely humiliating to discover that underneath her wifely veneer, Cindy is an unfaithful, secretively sex-obsessed bitch. I didn't know if our marriage could survive it and I didn't know if I wanted it to. But despite it all, I wanted to give us a chance. My madonna / whore complex was dangerously ascendant. I kept thinking that somehow I managed to make this beautiful girl my wife. What if I could make her my slut, too?

As the puck dropped at the Pee Wee Classic, the SEC dropped a bombshell. "MasterBettor is under investigation by this agency for securities fraud and money laundering."

The markets moved instantly. MSTRB plunged 44% in under an hour. CNBC aired a breaking segment on the stock's staggering collapse. I watched Bridget hustle out of the arena before the game even started. She was listening intently on her headset, a deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. She didn't dare talk to the press. She left it to a spokesperson to issue a statement denying any wrongdoing. By then. the damage was done. Class action lawsuits were already being filed. Seth saw to that.

Sam's team lost their first game of the tournament, but I was winning. By market close, Red Rocket Capital had turned $850,000 in leverage into nearly $14 million in paper profits.

As we filed out of the arena, the kids were sullen and the parents subdued. Capping off a long drive with an opening round loss was no one's idea of fun. But my mind-blowing gains in the market had me giddy. While everyone else trudged back to the hotel, my feet felt as light as air.

In that moment, I could do whatever I wanted. The possibilities were endless.

I could walk away. I could repay that second mortgage, divorce Cindy, and make off with my secret millions. I could move to a foreign country and send for my son. Maybe buy us a limestone mansion.

But in the end, none of that appealed to me. This wasn't about money or mansions.

This was about salvaging my marriage.

I was playing for my wife. I wasn't ready to lose her. Not yet.

As we got back to our hotel, there was a group of people standing in the lobby, waiting for the next elevator. I didn't mind waiting. Something about being in a hotel lobby makes me want to take my shoes off and pad around on the carpet like I'm in my own house. When the elevator finally came, who should squeeze in with us but Rocco and Ricky.

I could smell the cheap cologne -- they were probably both wearing it.

Being in a full elevator didn't stop Rocco from flirting with Cindy. He acted like no one else was there, even me. My wife acted much the same way.

When they got to their floor, Ricky invited Sam to come hang out in his room. I was caught staring at my phone and before I could respond, Cindy had already said he could go. I wanted to overrule her, but by then Sam had wriggled his way out of the elevator and was racing Ricky down the hallway. A large black dog followed them at a brisk trot, too dignified to run.

"One of us will come get him later," Cindy told Rocco. The elevator doors closed, but not before I saw the look he gave her in response.

I resolved that it would be me who goes to pick Sam up. No way I was letting Cindy go over there.

When we got to our room, we swiped a key card to enter the suite. Cindy kicked off her shoes and rubbed her feet as she hopped over to the bathroom.

While she freshened up, I went into my new brokerage account on my phone. I had been waiting for a chance to make my next move. I started buying.

Not stock. Not yet. That would be too obvious.

Instead, I bought MasterBettor's debt, wherever I could find it. Acting as my agent, Seth approached distressed bondholders through proxies, snapping up tranches at -- fittingly -- ten cents on the dollar. The company had heavily leveraged to fund its operations. Now their own paper was being used against them. On advice of counsel, I continued acquiring it until Red Rocket Capital owned enough convertible bonds to force the company into making concessions.

We got to that point much sooner than I expected. "There's an emergency board meeting tonight," Seth texted me. "You need to be there."

"Where?"

"MB headquarters. Boston."

Fuck! I couldn't miss this meeting. I had the board of directors running scared. This was my chance to really shake them down. But that would mean leaving Cindy alone in the same hotel where Rocco is staying. With our kids hanging out, it was inevitable that their paths would cross. Fuck fuck fuck!

In the end, I had no choice. When Cindy came out of the bathroom, her hair was wet and her torso was wrapped in a hotel towel, enticing me with an eyeful of flesh. I tried to ignore how fuckable she looked while I explained that something had come up at work and I had to leave right away. As it turned out, I didn't need to explain much. Cindy was happy to accept my story without asking any questions. "I'll look after Sam while you're gone," she assured me.

"Thank you, baby. I'll be back tomorrow, hopefully before his game starts."

On my way out the door, Cindy stood up on her tiptoes to kiss me on the forehead. "Take your time," she said sweetly. I caught a whiff of perfume wafting up from her cleavage.

MB headquarters was near the Pru, in a sterile, modern tower with frosted glass walls. I was struck by how ugly it all looked, then I laughed at myself: I've had money for less than a day but already I have opinions on interior décor.

I shuffled into the boardroom quietly, like a man carrying a big stick, and sat across from Bridget, who looked ten years older than the way she appeared just a month ago on Bloomberg.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Bridget snarled at me, her voice barely restrained. "You destroy my company and then come in here asking for board seats?"

I smiled, impressed that my attorney's demands had arrived before I did. It made my entrance that much more cinematic. "Not asking, Bridget," I calmly explained. "Demanding. I now control over 41% of your outstanding debt. You're in technical default already. If I want, I can push you into bankruptcy tomorrow."

Bridget laughed bitterly. "You're bluffing."

"My attorney filed the paperwork this morning. Check your inbox," I said, while I casually checked my fingernails.

Silence.

Then I heard the whirr of a motorized wheelchair as Uncle Anthony approached a member of the board to whisper in his ear. When Anthony was done, he slapped the man on the shoulder, subtly pushing him into the spotlight. The man had a tired face, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, when he spoke up.

"What do you want?"

"Three seats -- one for me and two for my team. You'll step down," I said, sticking to the script that Seth had given me. "If we're going to turn this company around, we need fresh leadership."

"And what do we get?" Bridget spat.

I went right back at her. "You get to keep your job. Maybe."

Bridget blinked her eyes with indignation, while Uncle Anthony remained inscrutable.

The vote was ugly. Heated. But inevitable.

I walked out with three seats and control of the board.

As I rode the elevator down to garage level, I texted Seth news of our victory in the boardroom. Right away, he hit me back. "The price is wrong, bitch."

It was too late to drive back to the Pee Wee Classic. I decided to drive home, even though I could easily afford a hotel in the city. When I got there, I texted Cindy to let her know where I was. "I'll leave here first thing in the morning to come see you," I promised.

"Sam is back in the room," my wife texted. "We're going to sleep."

That was reassuring.

I was padding around our empty living room in my socks, taking a moment to be thankful for my good fortune. I could have lost it all if things had gone differently. Our house could have gone into foreclosure. The family photos hanging on the wall could have been packed away in moving boxes, unwanted reminders of a shattered dream. Instead, I had more hope than ever that Cindy and I would be adding to our photo collection, making happy memories with our son for years to come. Who knows -- maybe we would add to our little family, too. I went to bed with my heart full.

I woke up two hours later to an alert on my phone. I assumed it would be another gloating text from Seth, but instead it was a notification on Cindy's fitness app, which I only get because we share data in the cloud. I clicked on it. It was a message congratulating her on meeting her cardio goals. Blearily I looked at the time. It was 2:20 a. m. Why was Cindy doing cardio at this ungodly hour?

That's when the MasterBettor app pulsed to alert me that its so-called "sportsbook" was taking action on a live performer. The pit in my stomach told me who it was.

I opened the app and waded through a spate of special offers, prop bets, teasers. spreads and parlays. I had no interest in any of that shit, but you can only get the live video feed if you lay money. The over / under on "partners for the night" was 1.5. My hand tremored as I put a dime on the over.

The screen lit up in my hand with live video. Subconsciously I must have expected to see the inside of my hotel room in Danbury because I recognized the ratty old carpet instantly. Then I heard my wife's voice and I felt a sinking weightlessness.

"I have to get Sam back from your room. It's way past time for him to come to bed," she whined from somewhere off-screen.

"It's time for you to come to bed," a deep voice boomed from behind the body camera. "I'm not done."

I see the brute is as considerate in the bedroom as he is everywhere else.

"I'm serious," Cindy insisted as she entered the picture, resplendent in a matching lingerie set that I didn't know she packed. She loped towards the camera in her silken finery and pulled a hairy-knuckled hand into view as she tried to tug the man out of bed.

Rocco just laughed. "So am I."

Cindy glared at him and stomped her foot, but tentatively, like she didn't know if she was really mad or not. Her body language told me she was turned on. The way she turned her pelvis toward him, her shallow breathing, her moistening lips, the rose-pink flush that dappled her cheeks -- all of it was a silent confession of her arousal.

"You can get him in the morning," Rocco wheedled. "I'm sure the boys are passed out by now."

Cindy tugged his hand again, but he didn't budge. "I'm not leaving," Rocco said in a low, rumbling voice, "until we go again."

Cindy twirled a strand of her messy hair, her massive tits rising and falling as she let out a sigh and sauntered over toward the bed. Before she made it, she stopped short and jerked her head to the side. "Does he have to be here?"

Rocco turned where she was looking and I saw a black mastiff with a shiny coat sitting regally in the corner.

"Sergeant stays," he replied firmly. "I'm teaching him how to train his bitch."

My wife rolled her eyes and laughed. "Yeah okay," she said sarcastically.

"You're not hard," Cindy complained as she fondled Rocco's cock, which, even flaccid, was still stouter than mine. She was trying to make excuses, but couldn't help sounding disappointed.

"Then get to work, bitch," he growled.

My senses sharpened to a fine edge as I watched Cindy straddle the hotel bed on her knees, leaning forward with her chest out, her eyes smoldering and seductive. Slowly she lowered her head down to Rocco's crotch, never looking away from his beady black eyes.

She lapped his soft cock along its length and then took it all in her mouth, holding it there like a puppy with a baby bird. Maybe she is a bitch. When she finally began moving, she hollowed her cheeks to apply suction, earning her a pat on the head. "Good girl," Rocco said, his praise making her suck harder. Cindy opened her mouth with a loud pop, then moaned in adulation as she snapped him up again, her lips gently gripping his impressive girth before puckering to kiss the plum-sized crown, working hard to coax an erection out of him. My beautiful, refined wife was making a glutton of herself nomming on Rocco's big hog.

"That's it. Who's my good girl?" he asked with exaggerated intonation. "Who's Daddy's good girl?"

"I am," Cindy stopped to answer before she went back to hoovering his semi-hard cock.

With busy tongue work and more vigorous suction, Cindy managed to get Rocco erect. She greeted his hard on with a lusty swirl of her tongue, then she happily impaled herself halfway down the fat shaft. That was as far as she could go without heroic efforts to unhinge her jaw. At full mast, his dick was longer than her face, a looming red giant that she struggled to subdue.

It was Cindy who was being subdued. She was lost in a trance, her head lolling while she lustily fluted her lips all over his thick stalk, slathering it in her saliva. She didn't just suck the cock; she submitted to it. She worshipped it slowly, showing Rocco -- and a massive online betting audience, I reminded myself -- that she loved his big dick dominating her pretty little mouth.

I stood alone in my dark, empty house, clutching my phone like a junkie with a needle. Watching in secret as my wife is seduced to cheat gives me an adrenaline rush like nothing else I have ever felt. I was riding the tiger as I watched the mouth that said "I do" at our wedding become another man's fuck hole.

"Don't let it out of your mouth," he commanded as he stood up, causing the camera around his neck to bounce.

While Rocco rose to his feet, my big-titted wife had to move carefully from the bed to the floor on her knees. She pulled it off with aplomb, keeping his cock in its warm incubator while she assumed her new position.

It was Rocco who finally dragged the dick out of her mouth. "Are you my little slut?" he asked while thwacking it against my wife's face.

"YES!" she bawled, the degradation bringing her to new levels of arousal.

Rocco held out an expectant hand. "Then give me your panties!"

Cindy wasn't making eye contact any more. Lifting one knee at a time, she pulled her tiny silk thong over her feet and deposited it in Rocco's upturned palm. With her other hand, Cindy shielded her face, warding off Rocco's gaze. I could only imagine how she would feel if she knew she had thousands more men gazing from behind their phones -- her husband among them. Unbeknownst to my wife, an army of Zyn-fueled parlay fiends had their eyes and their money on her every move.

Rocco turned his head, moving the body camera to his dog, sitting obediently in the corner. He held her panties out to him. "Here boy."

I could feel molten hot shame rising up through my feet, like I was standing in the stuff. I almost dropped the phone as Sergeant buried his canine nose into my wife's underwear and sniffed the crotch.

Rocco let his dog get a good snout full of her thong, then took it away and approached my wife, still kneeling, to drape it on her face. He had Cindy wearing her unmentionables like a mask when he poked his hard dick through the fabric and aimed it into her mouth.

"Taste how wet you are," he said, ramming a wad of her panties past her lips.

"Mmmmfff," my wife mumbled around the silken intruder.

"Do you like that, slut?"

"Ah wmmmmpf uh."

Rocco plowed in and out with his panty-covered cock, using her mouth for his decadent pleasure. Eventually he pulled back, leaving the thong balled up in her mouth, and walked behind her. "Stay," he commanded. He was looking at Cindy, not Sergeant.

The dog yelped louder than she did when Rocco pushed Cindy down onto all fours and spanked her sharply.

"Quiet," Rocco ordered and both of them fell silent. Then he spanked Cindy three more times in succession, blistering her ass red.

She didn't make another peep until he did it again, and then again, and again, spanking her until she started moaning plaintively through her underwear.

When he had my hot doctor wife with tears in her eyes, whimpering like a bitch in heat, Rocco strode in front of her, his merciless erection jutting out obscenely, and lifted her chin up. "Are you ready to get fucked?" he asked, plucking the thong out of her mouth.

"YES DADDY!" she yowled.

"Are you my little bitch?"

"YES DADDY!"

"Will you do anything I say?"

"YES DADDY!"

Rocco produced a thick blackout sleep mask and held it out invitingly. Cindy blinked her blue eyes, still teary from her spanking, then bowed her face in acceptance. Rocco slipped the blindfold down over her head, secured it in place and then put his cock under her cute nose.

"Sniff it!"

My goodness did she sniff it. The way my wife took whiffs of Rocco's endowment would put a puppy to shame.

When her nostrils were full of his musk, Rocco began rhythmically dick slapping her sleep mask. The contact with his cock made her cheeks puffy and pink.

A chyron appeared on screen, showing the odds on the most popular bets for what was coming next. I didn't want to look.

"Tell me where you want it."

"Put it in my pussy, Daddy," she begged, rubbing her legs together in frustration.

Rocco was in no hurry to relieve her. He stopped mashing her face and walked behind her, while my blindfolded wife stayed down on all fours. As he passed, Rocco put his meathooks on her stomach and her back at the same time, adjusting Cindy's posture to tilt that adorable ass up higher.

"Is that where you want my cum, Princess?" he teased. "Do you want another creampie in your pretty pussy?"

I wanted to blot that entire sentence out of my mind -- one word in particular -- but I couldn't. I heard it. And now "another" was burning in my ears as I watched Rocco hold a hand to Cindy's upturned hindquarters like he was testing the heat of a campfire.

"Don't cum in my pussy again," she pleaded. "I forgot to take my pill."

I had to blot that out, too.

"You pulled the goalie, huh? Well I won't cum inside you... unless you ask me to," Rocco said with intent, lining up the angle of his entry and beginning to push.

My blood was roiling and my dick was a knife in my pants.

My wife gave a hair-raising scream as the huge head of Rocco's cock split her vulva wide open, piercing its way to places deep inside. She was writhing on her hands and knees until he took hold of one hip and began stroking deeper into her doggystyle. That made her arch her back and cry out. "Oh my God, Daddy! Oh my God oh my God oh my God!"

Rocco's other hand loosely cradled each of her big breasts, letting them crash into his palm as he pounded her from behind. Every twitch of his hips caused them to swing chaotically into one another, treating his hand to a feast of flesh.

Rocco gave Cindy a light pat on the ass, signaling that he was ready to switch positions. When she made a girlish, high-pitched squeal, I knew he had pulled all the way out. Rocco arranged her on her back and spread her legs. He lingered on her glistening pudenda, whether for his enjoyment or the viewing audience, I don't know.

She was sopping.

He put a fat hand on her sleep mask, pressing her head down into the rug as he settled in between her legs and entered her from above. He fucked her with long, patient strokes, letting her revel in every inch. When he pushed his entire length inside her pussy, I could see the head of his cock punching up from her stomach, a shark's fin skimming the surface. He must have been hitting a place I never did because I had never heard my wife moan like this.

He was grunting, too, putting his back into every punishing blow. It didn't take many more before Cindy was screaming at the ceiling. "I'm close, Daddy! So close! So close! Sooo clooose!"

Her legs quivered uncontrollably as he fucked her through her orgasm. "That's it bitch," he cussed. "Cum on that fucking dick. Show Daddy you're a good little slut."

Cindy came so hard she couldn't speak; all she could do is gurgle wordlessly while Rocco continued ramming her with hard cock. She flailed beneath him until he pinned her down with his burly arms, making her scream while he powerstroked into her tummy. As her breathing grew ragged and her tits heaved, my blindfolded wife launched her hips off the carpet and wrapped her legs around her assailant's hairy back.

"You're cuming again, aren't you slut?" Rocco growled, his penis buried inside her.

"Yes!" Cindy gasped, the word just barely escaping her locked throat. She tried to touch her own tits but Rocco held her down, hammering her vulnerable pussy while another orgasm tore through her body.

"Do you want my cum?"

"Yeeeees!"

"Then it's going in your pussy."

"Nooooo Daddy!" she whined. "No more. I don't want to get pr--- ugh!"

Rocco interrupted her with a deep jab of his cock. He had been holding himself above her, but now he slid his sweaty belly onto her slender body and clinched his arms around her, getting close. After a deft roll, Rocco ended up on his back, with Cindy teetering on top, her jugs hovering above him and taking up most of the screen.

"If you don't want me to come, you better ride me nice and slow, little girl," he laughed, reaching around to swat her ass more than once.

Cindy undulated her belly, making it ripple in an erotic cadence as she leaned forward, corralling her runaway tits between stiff arms and rotating her hips as she began to bounce. The blonde beauty slowed down the pace, pampering Rocco with a leisurely ride on his meat.

She tried to keep the foul old pig's arousal at a low simmer, but multiple orgasms had her ablaze as she spindled herself over and over on his cock. When she turned her blindfolded face to the ceiling and moaned loudly, I knew her body was betraying her. I could see how every bounce on his stiff bayonette jolted her with electricity.

My wife tried to slow down by holding Rocco's hands as she spun on his wrist-wide appendage, but that only made their congress more intimate. He pulled her down, her tits smothering his chest as he kissed her forcefully. With her hands in his, she moaned softly into his mouth, as if he was making love to her, instead of fucking her like a cheap whore. Then Cindy pulled herself back up to a squatting position, legs crouching and spread open, and began to bounce higher. The higher she got, the louder the slap when she landed on his mid-section. Slap, slap, slap, SLAP! Her pussy must have been palpitating around Rocco's dick because she began speaking gibberish.

"Oh Daddy!" she squeaked. "You're so big Daddy!"

"You want to make me a Daddy, don't you whore?"

"No... noooo..." Cindy stammered, barely coherent.

"You want me to shoot that hot load all inside your little pussy, don't you?"

"Noooo Daaaaddy...." she sobbed, a hitch in her voice. But even as she said that, she was bouncing harder and faster.

Watching my wife crouched on Rocco's cock, thumping her tail like a little cum bunny, was so intoxicating that I couldn't think straight.

"I'm almost there," Rocco warned.

"So... am... I!"

So was I. My dick was straining for release.

But I refused to touch myself. That's exactly what got me into this shit show: fucking my fist while Rocco fucked my wife. I was determined not to keep repeating the same mistake. Maybe Kris' heavenly lips had breathed some self-respect into me.

Just not enough to make me turn off the video. I took it all in, eyes wide, ravenous for more. Watching my wife in the throes of passion, doing things for a big-dicked dom that she would never do for me, was my favorite drug. The high is immaculate. Every nerve in my body felt like a star that was about to go supernova.

While Cindy humped furiously, Rocco gave her a second warning. "Goddamn you're a good little rider. Are you ready for your reward?"

"Y... e... s... D... a... d... d... y!" she sighed in staccato.

My whole world stopped and my vision grayed out at the edges. My wife might be impregnated in front of my eyes -- and she was fucking begging for it. In that moment, it seemed like my entire future was hanging in the balance, held in suspense by the gossamer whims of femininity. I felt my breathing go from automatic to manual.

"Here it comes!"

Rocco's hands flew to her hips, no doubt intending to hold her down on his spurting cock, but Cindy was too quick. In a flash, she hopped off his waist and planted her mouth where her pussy had been, sucking him with shameless abandon. She moaned, slobbered and slurped noisily, making a show of her oral submission.

"Take that you cunt! Take that!" Rocco howled, thrusting his hips.

To my astonishment, I think Cindy came again from sucking his cock because as she was gulping down Rocco's sperm, her body suddenly stiffened up and then spasmed all over. The load he must have blown in her mouth had my wife waggling her abdomen like a honey bee. When she was finished shaking, she collapsed on the floor, letting Rocco's big cock plop out of her mouth and slide down her cheek, leaving a goopy trail behind it of her saliva combined with his spunk.

Rocco folded his hands behind his head, exhaling loudly. The gravel-faced beast was on his back, with the camera aimed up. He must have been sated because it seemed he could hardly move. Thank goodness for small mercies.

"You're a little cum dodger, ain't ya?" He said, sounding unbothered, maybe a little impressed.

"Hey!" Cindy scolded him flirtatiously. "Was I a cum dodger the first time?"

"No you were not," he happily conceded.

I was desperate for something, anything else to turn my attention to, so I began studying all the betting information that the app made available. It was amazing to me to realize what idiotic nonsense people were willing to bet on. Meanwhile, Cindy continued her pillow talk with Rocco.

"And I told you that shouldn't have happened," she said, removing her sleep mask to look at him with those sapphire blue eyes.

"You told me you'd do anything I say," Rocco jousted.

"I also told you it's a bad time. I'm mid-cycle." She whispered that last part, presumably knowing it was falling on deaf ears anyhow. Rocco didn't give a shit about any of that.

Rocco didn't give a shit about responding to her either. He ignored her as his eyes roamed around the suite, surveying his domain.

Eventually, Cindy dragged her big tits across Rocco's hairy body as she came over to snuggle. "If I'm disobedient, I guess you're going to have to punish me," she whispered in his ear.

"I have some ideas," Rocco retorted, before turning his head and whispering something back. It was so hushed that I couldn't hear what he said.

I just heard my wife gasp.

As Rocco scraped himself off the floor and gathered up his clothes to leave, I realized that I had lost my bet on the over. I was down a grand, but after my windfall profits, it didn't feel like losing.

It felt like a whetstone, sharpening my grief into a blade.